


Replacement

by MistressDragonFlame



Series: Soulmarks [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27199264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressDragonFlame/pseuds/MistressDragonFlame
Summary: Sakura breathed out slowly, trying to calm her frantic heart. She didn’t let her eyes raise above his shoulders—she knew what looking into the eyes of a mangekyou user would do. What she didn’t know was how Uchiha Itachi had gotten into one of the most secure buildings in Konoha, or why he did it to speak to *her*.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Itachi, Karin/Uchiha Sasuke, Namikaze Minato/Uzumaki Kushina
Series: Soulmarks [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546624
Comments: 146
Kudos: 467





	1. Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> The characters in the story have all been aged up 6 years, to make the plot less creepy, without much changing anything else in canon.
> 
> This is a paraquel to Hiraeth. I’d recommend reading that one first, but it’s possible to read this one separate—a little more confusing, though.
> 
> This one is also not a happy ending story.

Sakura drummed her fingers in annoyance. It was a bad habit she picked up within these very walls, and was a habit that Tsunade was trying to break. In her defense, it was a very valid time to drum them. She was chained to a chair in one of the most secure buildings in Konoha, strapped down like a criminal—a class _three_ criminal, a “likely threat to Konoha”! Well, ok, she did destroy a small section of the city, but this hardly would be the first time, and she had a very pressing reason!

She sighed and attempted to cross her arms, but was stopped by the chains clinking as they were dragged along. Surprisingly delicate appearing, they were very light and didn’t completely stop her movements. They were too short to travel wider than her shoulders, or raise them further than to her collarbone as they tied directly to the immovable table. Despite their fragile appearance, she knew she couldn’t break them. She had spent a whole year on rotation as the duty medic for the T&I team after tutoring under her mentor for a handful of months, and she still did stints when they were particularly, uh, _creative_ and needed someone to ensure the subject didn’t die from it. Tsunade said it was good practice, because it often didn’t matter if the person was permanently harmed from her learning attempts. While upsetting on a moral level (she had never told her civilian parents about what she did here), Sakura was a ninja of Konoha and, unlike her civilian doctor counterparts, she had never sworn an oath to do no harm. Being a ninja meant she knew that times come when morals take a back seat to the safety of the village. And she _had_ learned very quickly.

She had calmed down quite a bit from her horrible morning—really, talk about a nightmare scenario. Being chased by a nukenin as powerful as a Kage? She had never been so relieved as she had when she awoke to being placed in this room, even if she knew it was in the Torture & Interrogation building. She knew at least she was safe here from him, as it was the second most secure facility in Konoha after the Hokage tower.

Still, it was annoying to be in the ‘hot seat’ as she and the other interns called it. She can only hope that Tsuande will pop open the door and call her an idiot, then the situation would be clarified—because she _needed_ it to be clarified, it was too out of this world for reality. She shifted to clasp her hands together, and frowned at them. She had woken up… she can only imagine she had been the victim of a genjutsu—something that would have made her believe she was in somewhere she was not, being chased by someone she would run from. But why? Why would someone put such a strange genjutsu on her?

The door opened but it wasn’t the Godaime who was on the other side—though she’d never enter the room herself, lest her henge drop. The room was completely chakra suppressed, built into each wall, floor, ceiling, chair, and table, so the entire space negated chakra from its core, and all affecting genjutsu and ninjutsu were interrupted upon entering. Instead, Morino Ibiki stepped inside in all of his scarred visage.

It wasn’t her mentor, but Sakura still felt relief break in her chest. If nothing else, it was proof that whatever possible genjutsu from this morning was truly broken, and now she can see reality. She knew Morino, as the Head Interrogator in Konoha, was usually above the initial questioning phase, but he would have felt obliged to be her questioner as her former sensei. She was still a bit irritated; she had been waiting in this chilled room for at least an hour, Tsunade surely knew and could have gotten out of any meeting that would have taken her attention by now. And they could have at least given her something to eat as she waited; she hadn’t eaten since dinner yesterday, and was quite hungry.

“Good morning,” She greeted, trying to be polite despite her hectic day so far. Ibiki, unsurprisingly, ignored the greeting as he walked to the chair and pulled it out. He was titled ‘Jerk-Sensei’ by her and Ino for a reason, she humphed mentally. “Does Hokage-sama know I’m here?” She continued.

He might have paused the slightest amount before he sat down, but gruffly responded with, “The Hokage has been informed,” so it must have been her imagination. He settled into his seat for a few moments, and she tried to keep from scowling at him. She got a few lessons in interrogation during her year tenure, but it had never been her main focus. Still, she recognized his technique for what it was anyway. It was Interrogation 101. “I have a few questions, first,” he asked. “What is your name?”

Sakura sighed, and then leaned back into her chair. She knew that he would ask an absurd amount of questions to try and throw her off, and it would be over quickest if she just answered them, even if they were ridiculous ones. During her lessons, it was impressed that it was the minor details a lot of infiltrators got wrong—birthdays of parents, the intonation of saying one’s name—things like that. She knew that she should respond promptly, without argument, for this process to go the fastest. She also knew the clipboard he brought wasn’t so much to record the answers themselves, but to record the oddities _in_ the answers.

“Haruno Sakura,” She responded. She had sat through one mock interrogation before, as an experience for her training, and sat through more as a watcher. She knew this was probably going to be a longer session, since she was in a lower level of T&I.

“Have you ever gone by another name?”

“No.”

“What is your shinobi identification code?”

“Konohanin, two-four-one-six-bravo-six-nine-seven.” She replied easily. First four digits of the date she graduated, a letter assigned based upon her class ranking, and then a serial code assigned sequentially. She knew Naruto’s had been the unfortunate number of “666” but she understood now as an adult that it wasn’t an bad luck occurrence—the village had probably given him it because of the Kyuubi. 

Ibiki made another mark on the paper, “What is the name of your parents?”

Sakura rattled off the answer, as well as the dozens of follow ups. When were you born? When were your parents born? How did they meet? How long have they been together? Have they ever lived anywhere else? Do you have any other relatives? She knew he probably didn’t know the answer to all of these, but would know some. He usually spent no less than half an hour prepping before each interrogation.

He abruptly switched questioning tactics, which she was grateful for. She loved her family, and the questions weren’t hard, but knew that interrogation came in steps. Once her background was firmly established, they could go to the next one, and it’d be one step closer to getting out of these PJs and into something warmer!

“What were you doing yesterday?”

“Yesterday I spent the majority of my day at the hospital, as I had a twelve hour shift assigned,” She began, “I awoke in my home, alone, had breakfast, and started work there at 0600. I initially caught up on paperwork for about two hours, and also did so in between other tasks for the remainder of the day. I did rounds from about 0800 to 1000, checking on the overnight patients.” She said their names without prompting, knowing it would have been an item definitely checked before Ibiki came in. “I operated on Shiranui Genma-san at 1030, briefly assisted with Raido Hanako-san’s delivery around 1145. Umino Iruka-sensei brought in two of his students who had broken bones from sparring class after lunch, I don’t recall their names off hand, but they were second year students. I completed my shift for the day back in my office, and had dinner while I finished paperwork until about 1820. After, I went to the training ground sixteen, and worked out until around 2130. I was training alone, so I can’t list a corroborating witness. When I was done, I went to my home, showered and got ready for bed. There was nothing abnormal in my home when I arrived, my traps had all been untouched. I read a bit before turning in, but I was asleep by around 2300.”

Ibiki had watched her without expression during her entire answer, his pen making the occasional mark. She knew some of them were useless doodles to throw people off any pattern, but it was just as creepy to be the focus of his attention now as it had been during her training. He was an intimidating guy.

He then, oddly, asked for more details about the techniques themselves in regards to yesterday rather than the details about the day, as typical practice. How does one mend a bone? Is this different from mending cartilage? What did she do for the birth? What were the techniques used on Genma’s operation? He even poked a bit at the technical points, such as the stylistic choices of mending using the Overhand Binding technique vice the Suna Double version. He frankly surprised her a bit with the depth of questions—not that she couldn’t answer them, she could, but she was surprised he even knew to ask them, and why he would. Every spy worth their salt would know she was Tsunade’s apprentice, and would know these things for that reason.

Then, even stranger, he asked, “How did Shiranui-san’s wife react to her husband’s surgery?”

Sakura blinked. Usually false questions came later, during the second iteration of the interrogation. She still answered promptly with, “Shiranui Genma isn’t married.” She was pretty certain. Otherwise Shizune, who was dating him, would be _pissed_.

Ibiki didn’t react in any other way but to mark the paper, “What did the second years look like?”

She shifted in her seat a little, then continued with her answers; he must have done that knowing she was his student for a while, to throw her off. He liked making people uncomfortable, even regardless of his job.

She’d have dismissed the Genma question as a one off if he didn’t throw her another curveball question a few minutes later, “What color is Umino Iruka-san’s mark?”

She paused for the first time, her brow furrowing. He stared back, gruffly expressionless. Mark? What mark? Did he mean his scar? “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question. Umino-sensei has an oblong face, dark brown hair and black eyes, and a scar that crosses over his nose from here to here.” She bent her face down enough that her hand could point to the appropriate locations, “He has laugh lines around his eyes, and small stress lines down his cheeks.” She adjusted back up in her chair.

Ibiki didn’t clarify his question, nor did he press further. He sat there, watching her as she sat in her chains—he hadn’t removed them yet, the grumpy man. Protocol, he’d probably state if she asked directly.

“Tell me of this morning,” he eventually asked, and Sakura breathed out a huff. He was fucking with her. _Jerk-sensei indeed, humph._

“I woke up a little later than typical. I set my alarm for 0700 on my days off from the hospital, but I woke what was probably closer to 0800, as my alarm hadn’t gone off.” She frowned, then corrected herself, “It might have gone off, but I was not in my apartment to know. I awoke in a room, in a bed, that was not my own. I didn’t recognize the room at all; it was a traditional room with tatami floors, and an updated futon. I had no idea how I got there. From the window, I could see a yard with a garden, and the corner of the Shodai in the Hokage monument—so I know I awoke somewhere on the other side of the village from my home.”

“Where is your apartment?” He interrupted as she took a breath.

She gave the address, then answered the inevitable follow on questions—how long had she lived there, did she live alone, what was the color of her bedsheets, how many rooms had tatami, and so on.

“What happened after you awoke?” He brought the questions back to her recount.

“I could sense there was someone else in the building, so I smothered my chakra and went into defense mode, and moved downstairs to gather information,” she said, and watched him to see any sort of reaction—but he was just writing on his clipboard. “I found Uchiha Itachi. Making _breakfast_.”

That did not get a reaction, not a twitch, not even an raised eyebrow of disparagement for the absurdity of finding an S-class wanted criminal in the middle of Konoha cooking as if nothing was wrong. She had nearly had a heart attack when she almost locked eyes with the missing-nin. She frowned, then continued when he didn’t ask anything, “He noticed me, of course, and I fled as quickly as I could. I don’t know how he got into the village, or what he was doing in that home, or why he would chase after me. I tried evasive maneuvers, but they didn’t work. I tried to get lost in a crowd I found, but…” She furrowed her brow, recalling the strange event. She had entered into a large group of people, and illusioned herself to look like a slightly paunchy civilian, smothering her chakra to match. Her pursuer had landed moments later, and was able to isolate her instantly, and the crowd...

She shivered, then continued. “It was strange, he pointed me out and the resident shinobi targeted me as if _I_ was the threat,” she shook her head, thinking maybe it had been a mass illusion. Or maybe it was just her under the illusion and it had been Kakashi or someone else who was actually chasing her. “I thought there might have been extenuating circumstances, so I mainly sought to escape rather than to damage. I must have gotten caught in a genjutsu by a responding shinobi, because the next thing I knew I woke up here.” She raised her hands and jingled them, “In _chains_.”

“You did destroy a large section of the marketplace, Haruno-san,” Morino stated lightly.

Sakura felt embarrassment bloom in her chest, and warmth crawl across her cheeks as she blushed. She could have done worse, she had carefully controlled it to avoid the civilians! He continued from his rebuke, “Why did you run from Uchiha Itachi?”

Sakura barked a sudden laugh in surprise, though there wasn’t any humor in it. The absurdity mixed with her earlier embarrassment, so she responded back a little more sarcastically than she should have. Probably. He was now her senpai, not her sensei anymore. “You’re kidding, right? Uchiha Itachi? **S-class criminal** Uchiha Itachi? The only Konoha nukenin with a _flee on sight_ order? Yes, why would I, a chuunin medic-nin, run from him?” She sneered the last bit, gesturing to her chest. She was well aware of her shortcomings as a shinobi, but even seasoned jounin would run from Itachi if facing off one on one. That’s what flee on sight _meant_.

Ibiki set down his clipboard, and watched her a bit, hands flat on the table, but she refused to back down from her righteous indignation. He, during her tenure under him, always badgered her for her rank—initially when she was still a genin, and then after she became a chuunin. ‘You need to work harder to earn rank, Haruno’, ‘Focus on your ninja skills, Haruno,’ and ‘Being a medic won’t save you from capture or your head getting chopped off, girl,’ She was focusing more on her abilities as a medical ninja than her general kunoichi skills that jounin required, but that was perfectly fine! She made more as a medic-nin chuunin than Ino did, and she was already a tokubetsu jounin for interrogation. She was still young, and jounin would come in time, as Tsunade said. _Cha!_

“Tell me what you know of Uchiha Itachi.” He asked.

“I never encountered him before today,” She leaned back, absently attempting to cross her arms, but huffed when the shortened chain prevented the motion. She clasped her hands on the edge of the table instead. “So my knowledge is limited.” She cleared her throat, and recalled the bingo book entry she had read more times than any other.

“Uchiha Itachi is ranked an S-class nukenin. Born June ninth, blood type AB, age 27, height 178cm. Fire type, but known to be able to control Wind and Water natures with mastery. He possesses the kekkei genkai sharingan, and the mangekyou sharingan. Known member of the criminal organization Akatsuki. Known partner is Mist nukenin Hoshigaki Kisame. Known abilities include most fire techniques, a proficiency in genjutsu, crow summons, shurikenjutsu, and remarkable speed. Crimes include the slaughter of nearly the entire Uchiha clan in a single night, assisting enemy villages in tasks set against Konoha and her interests, acts of terrorism, and infiltration of Konoha and attacking responding jounin. Status: Flee on sight.

“Uchiha Itachi also happened to have attacked all of my genin teammates within the first year of forming, though I was not a part of either incident.” She continued, looking away towards the floor at her right, face twisting as she remembered the terrible outcomes of those events. She had been unaware of the reason for Kakashi’s hospitalization initially. It wasn’t until she was training under Tsunade did she find out who caused the damage, and then only because she maybe not quite legally snooped into his medical record. And for Sasuke… something had broken in him then, turning him cold and cruel, leading him to the clutches of Orochimaru. Now, as an adult and years away from home, she didn’t think he’d ever recover and that thought always pained her. She breathed, and faced her former mentor again. “Kakashi-sensei and Sasuke were both hospitalized from the confrontations, though they were two separate occasions. Naruto was mostly uninjured during his encounter, but was the target of Uchiha-san due to his Akatsuki ties. Our information has not changed in the years since, and thus Uchiha-san remains an active threat to Konoha and to Naruto specifically.”

Ibiki was unmoved from his earlier calm, and probably was bored by this information. He was the expert in Konoha nukenin, after all. He had begun drumming his fingers on the table during her tale—the source for her own habit. “Do you know where he is at this moment?” He asked, voice as mild as when he first entered.

She shrugged, “I’ve no idea where he is. Or if that was even actually him I saw this morning, though I fail to understand why someone would walk around masked as a traitor to the village.” She said, pointedly. She had awoken when they entered into the space, and had tried to tell the attendants of the Uchiha’s presence, they had ignored everything and just strapped her down before leaving. She had not been impressed by their professionalism.

Morino didn’t follow up this time with another question. He just continued to sit there and tap his fingers, which he did when he was trying to figure out a particularly puzzling subject.

Sakura huffed at the lack of response, “What? Stop tapping your fingers at me, Ibiki-senpai, I’m telling you the truth.”

He abruptly halted the motion. He never liked it when his own habits were pointed out—he refused to admit he had them, for one.

“When is Tsunade-shishou coming?” She asked, looking around at the viewing windows in the room, obvious by the one way mirrors flanking each side. She knew that at least one person was on the other side watching, as it was standard protocol when the interrogator was in the room to have at least one witness, but there may have been her mentor in them. “Certainly someone has dragged her away from whatever she was doing by now. Shizune would have arrived, if nothing else.”

“Why do you think Tsunade-sama is coming?” Ibiki asked, pulling his clipboard back into his hands again.

“Ibiki-senpai, you said she was aware that I was here. If she felt I was a threat to the village, she’d be here herself to yell at me for it. If not, then she’d be here to yell at you for these.” She wiggled her chained wrists again.

“I never mentioned Tsunade-sama, merely the Hokage.”

“Tsunade-shishou _is_ the Hokage, Ibiki-senpai.” She said flatly, now irritated that he was being so obtuse. She can understand questions about her home, and facts of her day as they were specialized to her, but Tsunade? 

He frowned, for the first time having a facial expression. Probably at her tone, she _was_ getting a bit frustrated. “What happened to the Yondaime?”

She frowned back, confused at the abrupt topic change, “The Yondaime is dead. He died defending the village from the Kyuubi when I was an infant.”

Morino hummed, staring at her with his blank, creepy eyes. Then, abruptly, he stood and left the room without another word. Sakura snorted and muttered, “Rude,” under her breath when the door closed behind him.

She sighed heavily, a little angry to be made waiting again. This was getting _ridiculous_. There was no way Tsunade wasn’t aware by now. Maybe Danzo had reared his ugly, bandaged head again and ran interference, to force Tsunade to make her get ‘proper clearance’ and not just removed once she showed up. If that was the case, Sakura didn’t care, she would kick his _old, wrinkled ass._ Her behavior warranted no more than a level _one_ criminal, which meant no chains, a regular room, minor questions, and she got a representative from the village. She’d probably pick Kakashi, actually, since he had nearly the same sway in the village as Tsunade, and then Tsunade could act as arbitrator in the case. He was technically no longer her sensei, at least _active_ sensei, but she felt he would still pull through for her in this.

She slumped forward onto her hands, not so much for exhaustion, but to conserve warmth. Her PJs were not designed for the chill of the interrogation chambers, and it wasn’t helped that she was barefoot as well. She hadn’t spent long enough in the strange home to grab shoes. Though she could have sworn her favorite light pink set was warmer than what she was currently experiencing; they were cotton after all. Worn cotton, but still cotton. She never wore it in the eternally chilled T&I building before, for obvious reasons, so she hadn’t—

The door clicked open again, and she raised her head, expecting to see her mentor in all of her angry glory.

Instead, her morning nightmare closed the door behind him.

Sakura reacted instinctively, jerking back in her chair as if to escape. The chains shrieked as they were yanked unforgivingly, metal complaining at her strength even with the chakra block. They held despite their protests, and instead bit into the delicate skin around her ankles and wrists for her efforts. Her chair, welded to the floor, caged her in her spot so she couldn’t get any further away from the Uchiha.

She ducked her chin, lowering her eyes from his face before he could catch her gaze, instead dropping to look at his shoulders. One could tell a lot of another’s movements by their shoulders, and she didn’t want to chance it at all with a sharingan user, let alone a mangekyou user. She wasn’t certain how the chakra block of the room would affect the kekkei genkai, but it was Uchiha Itachi. He probably had ways around that.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as he settled into the chair across from her. How did he get in here? What happened to Ibiki? To the poor (probably genin) watcher in the observation room? To the chuunin and jounin guards around the building?! Her mouth went dry at the thought of him killing his way to her—what did he even want with _her?_ The closest connection they had was Sasuke, someone he nearly killed more than once, and whom she hadn’t seen in years? Was it Naruto, who she hadn’t seen in nearly as long? Where was his partner, Hoshigaki?

She pressed as far away from him as she could, huddled into a corner of the metal chair, and felt the blood begin to trickle down to her foot from where the ankle bindings tore her flesh enough to bleed. Her heart hammered in her throat, her breath came out in harsh pants, and her hands were numb from clenching so hard. She felt like, and she _was_ , a chained animal set for him to slaughter. The room was sound proof, no one could hear her if she called out. There was nothing she could do to defend herself. She was probably already dead; it was just a matter of how long he took to kill her.

They sat in silence for what felt like eternity, and she felt the sweat drip down her spine. She watched him carefully, her harsh breaths the only sound in the room. He was wearing a dark navy, kimono style top, though it had modern fabrics and ties that pure, traditional garb didn’t. She didn’t know if this was what he typically wore under the infamous black and red Akatsuki cloak, but she would be surprised if he did since it didn’t seem conducive to fighting. And why had he forsaken that iconic covering? To better infiltrate? His hands were lightly clasped in front of him, nails trimmed neatly and clear of any paint. They also weren’t covered in blood, which she wasn’t certain was horrifying or reassuring.

“What do you want?” She eventually rasped, as he made no move from his chair, nor any indication that he was going to speak. She shivered with her pent up anxiety and fear.

Sakura watched his shoulder roll ever so slightly back before he spoke, his voice smooth and deep, not as rough as she was expecting it to be, “Confirmation,” he said, simply. He took a slow breath, and continued, “I have a... question that you may assist me with.”

“I won’t tell you anything about Naruto,” she hissed at his neck, the metal of her bindings groaning again as her muscles flexed. “Or Sasuke.”

He paused for a moment before he responded, voice as blank as Ibiki’s had been, “It is not about either of them.”

She glanced at the door with her peripheral vision, wondering how long it would be before someone noticed something was wrong and came to check it out. Each person checked into the T&I building had a timer set to them to be checked on from a roving team, the higher priority, the more frequent. A class three, which she had to have been with her chains and location, would warrant someone by every 15-25 minutes. She wondered if she would last that long.

“You said you’re a medic-nin.” Her heart stuttered. He had been _spying_ on the meeting with Ibiki! “I have something for you to examine for me.”

She quickly looked through her hair at the side rooms, where the cameras were stationed on the other side of the glass. She wondered if the typically bored chuunin on the other side of the cameras were paying enough attention to notice something was off in her room. She knew the feed went from the room to a centralized location that changed each day to hide its presence and increase the safety of those within, and it was one of the least favorite duties of the interns of the T&I building. Someone hopefully had noticed—

“No one will come in here until I’m done,” he said, and her stomach lurched at the pointed remark. She was suddenly very glad she hadn’t eaten yet, and she swallowed heavily. He then absurdly followed up with, “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

 _Fat chance!_ What type of crock of shit was that? She took a breath, and used her anger to fight back her fear. If she was going to die in here, she would prefer to go out cursing than crying. “What do you want?” She asked again, voice quiet but not shaking.

She couldn’t stop herself from flinching as he stood—so much for going out cursing—but he gave no indication that he noticed or, more likely, cared. He moved the interrogator’s chair around to the side of the small desk, positioning it so he could still sit facing her, but far, far closer than she’d ever wanted to be with him.

He sat down again, but this time he rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, and laid it down, showing her the underside of his forearm, his hand loosely curled into a fist. “What can you tell me about this?”

She didn’t even look directly at the small, dark purple mark on his otherwise blemish free skin. She could see it just fine from her peripheral vision, she could leave her eyes on the threat. She didn’t allow herself to think about the formidable skill it took to remain scar free at his age and profession. “That’s what we medic-nin call a birthmark, Uchiha-san. Can you leave now?”

He didn’t respond immediately, and her heart rate picked up again at his silence. Had her snark finally done her in, like Danzo had always told her it would?

His hair shifted on his shoulder as his head moved, but she wasn’t looking to check why. “I am afraid you’ll need to further assess. This mark… was not here before this morning.”

“Bruise, then. Lesser shinobi get them frequently.” Oh god, _she was going to die,_ why did she keep doing that?!

“Please,” he said simply, and she had no idea how to react to that. A mass-murdering, S-class nukenin asking her ‘ _please_ ’? She stared at his neck, but his pulse wasn’t strong enough for her regular eyes to decipher—she only knew it wasn’t matching her own frantic beats.

But… she reasoned, if she delayed, then it would increase her chances of survival greatly, and increased the chances of him being captured for good. If he was captured, maybe Sasuke would finally come back and get the help he so desperately needs. She just needed to not die horribly in this room.

She shifted in her seat, the metal chains clinking as she moved. Her ankle started to ache and throb, but she pushed it aside as unimportant at this moment. She glanced at the door again, looked at how his shoulders were relaxed under his quality silk, and wondered what his endgame was. There were plenty of medic-nin and civilian doctors in the world, why would he hunt her down to the depths of one of Konoha’s most secure facilities to ask about a blemish in his skin? There were rumors of degrading eyesight, of how his abuse of his bloodline ability was limiting his vision, but he wasn’t asking her to examine those. Probably smartly, because she’d be able to kill or paralyze him in an instant if he let her get her chakra that close to his brain.

When he didn’t move or say anything else, Sakura finally dropped her gaze to look at the subject of his inquiry. It was strangely well defined for a bruise—which had been the reason she felt it was a birthmark initially. Most bruises that dark had a bit of fuzzing around the edges, where the blood vessels burst and overflowed from the original imprint. But this was… crisp, more like a drawn image on a piece of paper. Maybe it was just a weird mole?

She shifted in her chair again, a quick glance at the nukenin to see if he reacted at all. But he was sitting calmly, breath slow and steady. She knew it was a terrible idea, but she reluctantly scooted closer to him, so that she could actually get within a reasonable distance to the mark. Treat him like a patient, she told herself, and not like someone who will kill you once you’re done.

She closed her eyes, and forced a breath. No, don’t think of **that**. Calm down, you can do this. _Cha!_

She opened her eyes again, and got to examining it for real. It was an even dark purple, closer to maroon than navy. The skin under it wasn’t raised and rough, like a tattoo would have been, but indistinguishable from the skin around it, save the color. It didn’t look to be a dye or stain, as very faintly she could see the fine hair that covered his forearm was the same shade as those above the mark. Was it a mole? It was very large to be one, and they don’t appear overnight as he had indicated. And it wasn’t a birthmark? She didn’t think he’d lie about that, there would be no purpose. She would have thought it was a jutsu of some sort, but the room would have negated something small, and he would have noticed something larger. He wasn’t S-class for nothing.

It was strange, actually, but… the mark was in the shape of her right thumb. Exact shape and size, including the missing notch. Back when she had first started training under Tsunade, she had been grilled on her shurikenjutsu and her abilities to heal cuts—an appropriate combination of lessons. Unfortunately, she hadn’t yet learned the ability to regrow small, missing bits of herself, and Tsunade had wanted the lesson of her poor tool management to stick. Thus, she had a small, triangular missing section off the inner side of her thumb.

And this mark _matched_ it. She knew it did, because it was the exact size and shape of her thumbprint seal with the Slugs, and she had spent hours of her life staring at that contract in awe after signing it. Very strange.

She instinctively reached forward with her hands, to grab his forearm to turn it another direction and let the overhead light shine on it better. However, a movement at the corner of her eye caused her to recoil as she abruptly remembered just who her patient was, and how he might not appreciate her touch. Except… except he was just shifting in his chair, settling against the backrest. He hadn’t even twitched his arm from its location. Nothing to be worried about… yet, anyway. She had overreacted. Probably. Maybe.

She swallowed and rolled her tongue around in her dry mouth to regain some moisture. Breathe, girl, keep going, she told herself as she looked at his chin. A firm chin, well defined and aristocratic, _handsome_ said an extremely unhelpful part of her hindbrain. She kicked that part back into the dark silence.

Sakura relaxed her hands from where she had pulled them back against her chest, placing them onto the table in front of her and within reach of his. But she hesitated before reaching out to him again, suddenly gun-shy. He didn’t move because of her pending touch, surely. He probably moved because he was bored with how long she was taking; even she knew she was being absurdly slow with her investigation. All physical exams had some element of touch, it was expected. _Get it together!_

Taking a firm breath, she squared her shoulders. She might as well get it over with, she reasoned, jump into water and not slowly toe her way in. She reached out with her hand and placed her thumb on the mark squarely. She didn’t know why she used her thumb and not another finger to first touch him; perhaps it had been the shape. Regardless, the skin was dry and surprisingly warm in the chilled room, sending tingles up her flesh, and was as smooth as it looked. She took all that information in instantly, not wanting to linger. She wiped outward with the same motion, checking to see if the mark was non-affixed to the skin and…

It was _gone_.

She jerked back in shock, and looked at her thumb—but it was just as it always was, no color to be found.

“W-what?!” She blurted. What the hell was that?! She didn’t sense any chakra. Where did it go? Was it a genjutsu, in _here_? How was that possible in this room? Why would he even do such a thing at all, make her examine something fake? Was it some sort of strange tracking or possession or, or mind control jutsu activated by touch?!

Sakura looked back at the man in what she could only later think to be utter stupidity and confusion, because she looked right at his face when she did. He wasn’t, thankfully, looking back at her—he was staring at his forearm, his mouth turned down just slightly at the edges. His black eyes—didn’t he always have his sharingan activated?—flickered with something she didn’t have time to place before she dropped her gaze again, heart picking up speed in her chest. She shot back into the backrest of her seat, pulling her arms out of possible harm’s way, pressing the right close to her ribs and squeezing the muscles to work the jitters out of it. 

Her shoulders jerked and tensed as he stood from his chair, and she was certain she was going to die right then and…

And he turned around and left. The door clicked softly behind him, without any fanfare.

Her heart was now thumping painfully in her chest, and she clutched her shirt over it, as if she could keep it in by pressure. She had _survived_. She was even _unharmed_. He was leaving the building, leaving _her_. She heaved out a breath in stark relief, slumping forward as shivers racked her form from the pent up adrenaline. She rubbed at her sternum, where her heart was aching from all the stress she had put it under.

She was still sucking down grateful breaths when the door opened again and she shot back up in startlement, but it was only Morino Ibiki, as unharmed and grumpy as ever, if a little hunched shouldered.

She didn’t get time to relax back down or even get a word out about how _Uchiha Itachi_ had just been here, _in this very room_ , before someone else stepped into the interrogation chamber.

Tall, medium build, blond hair gold even under the harsh lights of the room. Blue, blue eyes with crows feet just started around the edges, and laugh lines around the currently unsmiling mouth. His hair spiked on top, but the sides were long enough to frame his face and the rearmost locks were tied off in a short ponytail. He wore a white cloak with red flames dancing on the bottom, and a standard jounin uniform under it. She had never before seen a colored picture of him, but had spent her childhood looking at the rock face depicted on the Hokage Mountain. There was no mistaking the visage of the Yondaime Hokage as he came into the room.

“Well,” he said after she helpfully gaped at him in complete stupefaction. He relocated the interrogator chair back to the far side of the table and sat down. “I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news.”

Uchiha Itachi hadn’t killed her, but certainly the heart attack she was suffering was going to.


	2. Converging realities

Namikaze Minato, the Yondaime of Konoha, hadn’t believed the report initially. Uchiha _Sakura_ had attacked and destroyed a city square unprovoked? Her husband, Uchiha _Itachi_ , had ordered her to T&I as a suspected _threat to Konoha?_ What was this, topsy-turvy day? He would have thought it was a joke, a prank, but the chuunin who delivered the report had the sense of humor of a rock. 

He went first to the alleged location, walking since it was a nice day out (and he also didn’t have a Flash point there). His guard followed him from the tower, naturally, but far enough back that they were not immediately obvious. He hardly felt they were necessary, but after that last assassin attempt Kushina had put her foot down and threatened to watch sappy, b-rated films _every day_ if he didn’t allow them to remain. As they had an empathic bond, it hadn’t been the threat of feeling her emotions during the terrible films, which were bad enough, but the true fear that lay under the anger that caused him to affirm the request. Besides, he had found out there was an added bonus; they kept the more tenacious Konoha residents from approaching him for requests outside of the forums meant for that. 

Today was a bright morning, just begun for the majority of the village. He knew the Uchiha Marketplace was often open by the crack of dawn, so this early morning interruption probably annoyed the matriarch of the clan something fier—ho-ly **shit**.

He had come upon the square, and had no idea how this damage had happened, which was very rare this far into his tenure of being Kage. There was an indent into the ground as if a giant had reached down and punched a hole in the earth. The flagstone pavement was shattered and scattered, large boulders were revealed under the dirt, lumpy and damaging. Someone had already stopped the water leak, but he could see the destroyed metal pipe that had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the churned earth. The damage had to have spanned no less than eight meters across end to end, and at least one deep. He had only ever seen one person do something similar before; Tsunade, when she flicked a crater under his feet with a finger when he had asked if she was ready to come back to Konoha six years ago.

He knew from the report that no civilian had been hurt from the blast, which was amazing from the size of the damage and likely density of them in the area at the time. A chuunin was suffering a dislocated shoulder from, apparently, being flung like a kunai by Sakura to the next block over, and another had been caught by the churning earth and was likely to be on light limited duty for his ankle for a little while. At the time of hearing it, he had thought it was more luck than anything else that it ended up being just two minor injuries, but seeing the scope of the damage, he wasn’t so certain any more. This was too large to have so few injuries without that being intentional.

“I’m going to T&I.” He said aloud, then Flashed away in yellow light. He had gotten yelled at by his security manager enough times to stop Flashing away without warning. Most of the time, anyway.

He appeared inside the building, at the check-in desk. The jounin receptionist stood and bowed, unsurprised by his sudden appearance, “Hokage-sama,” she greeted.

He smiled at her and nodded back, signing into the visitor log. “I need to know where you’ve put Uchiha-san,” he asked with a smile. She was his favorite receptionist at T&I, as she never yelled at him when he Flashed in like the others did, complaining about security protocols.

“Seven-Bravo, sir.” She took back the sign in sheet from him.

He nodded, then Flashed directly there as he had a marker in the observation chamber. He wondered if Morino had placed Uchiha Sakura in that room for that reason, knowing he’d come as soon as he could. Itachi was his right hand man, after all, his successor—he wouldn’t set this serious event on the back-burner.

“Sorry, sorry I’m late,” He said as he stepped forward after Flashing into the room. It was one of two observation rooms that made up the Seven series, which were on one of the lower rungs of the T&I building. A dark, narrow room with two chairs, it predominantly showcased the one way mirror that looked into the interrogation chamber. It was fitted with an electronic mic piped into the room to amplify any sound within the chamber itself. The interrogation had already started but, as Morino was asking about parent’s information, it must have been fairly early into the interrogation.

Itachi didn’t flinch at his sudden appearance, he was well used to it by now. He stood with his back straight and proud, his arms crossed over his chest, his features as blank as the Uchiha were known for.

“I stopped by the marketplace,” Minato whistled as he stopped shoulder to shoulder with the other man, “Impressive reach. You sure Tsunade-hime hadn’t snuck in?” He asked, trying to keep things light.

“She was terrified of me,” Itachi said, his voice just fractionally quieter than typical.

Minato paused and reassessed his protégé. Itachi’s arms were crossed in more of a defensive position than he probably realized, he was standing far too still, and there was a hint of… something in his voice. The Hokage was more in tune with emotions than most were because of his Bond with his wife, and, his demeanor abruptly shifting, he quickly grabbed Itachi’s shoulder without any further prompt, squeezing lightly. Minato empathized—no one wanted to be opposed to their Soulmate. 

“She got her name wrong,” was the next thing Itachi said, a flicker of pain and confusion in his eyes. “She said Haruno Sakura.”

“Is she…?” He trailed off. He knew the Bond between them was of location; no matter where they went, they knew where the other was. 

He shook his head, “I have not lost track of her since the day the Bond developed between us.”

“We’ll figure this out,” He said, then turned to watch the room. His chief interrogator was the one to conduct this interview, since it was such a high profile case. Uchiha Sakura, future matriarch of the Uchiha clan and wife of the prospective Godaime Hokage, was not an insignificant target to infiltrate.

“What were you doing yesterday?” Morino Ibiki asked, moving the questions to a different topic.

What she said… made no sense. She told a reasonable story about working at the hospital, with names, details, times. But Sakura was not a medic-nin to handle something as mundane as a birth, she was a Slug S—

He inhaled softly in surprise as he noticed; her Seal of a Hundred was _gone_. Not shrunk, as sometimes happened after an arduous, chakra heavy task, but completely gone. He leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms as he settled in for the long interview of… this stranger.

Sakura, or more accurately the subject who looked just like her, had no issues detailing the abilities of a medic-nin, and answered every question smoothly, perfectly.

She first faltered on an easy question; Genma’s wife, a woman who was as proactive in her husbands’ well being as an over eager genin on their client during their first C-rank escort mission. There was no way that she would not have been there from the moment he checked in until he left.

He tapped a finger on his other arm, mind whirling.

It wasn’t too long after that where she stumbled on another easy question. “What color is Umino Iruka-san’s Mark?”

The subject’s brow furrowed as she looked at Morino, for the first time pausing before she answered. She was the picture of polite confusion, and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question. Umino-sensei has an oblong face, dark brown hair and black eyes, and a scar that crosses over his nose from here to here. He has laugh lines around his eyes, and small stress lines down his nose.”

Iruka’s Mark was bright teal, and an odd shape that traveled from the middle of his forehead down to his left cheek, as if a wide brush stroked down his face. As he had seen him just this morning with it, it was hardly a case that the infiltrator saw him after he met his Soulmate. How could anyone accurately describe Iruka without that Mark?

He could tell Morino was equally flabbergasted, for all his lack of expression, as he wasn’t even bothering with his clipboard in the moment. Just stared at the subject, hands flat on the table. ‘ _Devil eyes,_ ’ Kushina had whispered to him once after meeting up with the man at a festival, ‘ _Seeing to a person’s very being for lies like the Hyuuga can see your chakra pathways. Gives me the creeps._ ’ Minato agreed, it was one of the reasons Morino Ibiki was so good at his job.

The woman, however, just stared back, unmoved from the look. When he eventually said, “Tell me of this morning,” she even looked annoyed before telling of the Uchiha home as if it was unknown, then detailing a residence that he knew resided somewhere in the civilian district as Ibiki prodded at the falsehood.

Who _was_ this person?

He looked towards the other man in the room, but Itachi was fairing no better than he was, his stance as stiff as if he were a statue. A tell of his when he was feeling a particularly powerful emotion. He didn’t even look like he was breathing.

Ibiki continued his questioning, looking as unmoved as when he had first entered. However, the story she responded with made less and less sense. But the worst happened when Ibiki asked; “Why did you run from Uchiha Itachi?”

The subject barked a sudden humorless laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Uchiha Itachi? **S-class criminal** Uchiha Itachi?” Minato glanced at his protégé, whose shoulders had twitched at the absurd comment. Who on earth would ever think that Itachi would turn rogue? The man was one of the most loyal shinobi of the village, heir to the Uchiha clan, who themselves were the Trunk of Konoha herself. “The only current Konoha nukenin with a _flee on sight_ order? Yes, why would I, a chuunin medic-nin, run from _him_?”

Ibiki kept his face blank, but set his clipboard down as he focused onto the stranger. “Tell me what you know of Uchiha Itachi.”

“I never encountered him before today,” She settled back from her snark, “So my knowledge is limited.”

She cleared her throat and began, with a particular lit to her voice, “Uchiha Itachi is ranked an S-class nukenin. Born June ninth, blood type AB, age 27, height 178cm. Fire type, but known to be able to control Wind and Water natures with mastery. He possesses the kekkei genkai sharingan, and the mangekyou sharingan.”

Itachi abruptly sat down, and even Minato was floored by the accusation. No one has had the mangekyou since the second Hokage, it was a sacrifice too large to make. 

“Known member of the criminal organization Akatsuki. Known partner is Mist nukenin Hoshigaki Kisame. Known abilities include most fire techniques, a proficiency in genjutsu, crow summons, shurikenjutsu, and remarkable speed. Crimes include the slaughter of nearly the entire Uchiha clan in a single night, assisting enemy villages in tasks set against Konoha and her interests, acts of terrorism, and infiltration of Konoha and attacking responding jounin. Status: Flee on sight.”

It suddenly came to him; it was a bingo book entry. She had been reciting a bingo book entry, with enough familiarity to recall it verbatim.

“Uchiha Itachi also happened to have attacked all of my genin teammates within the first year of forming, though I was not part of either incident.” The subject continued, and she looked away from Morino for the first time that he could recall, not really looking at anything, but reflecting. She happened to face their wall, and so he could easily see the way her eyes darkened and face twisted with pain, even as she continued absurdly, “Kakashi-sensei and Sasuke were both hospitalized from the encounters, though they were two separate occasions. Naruto was uninjured during his encounter, but was the target of Uchiha-san due to his Akatsuki ties. Our information has not changed in the years since, and thus Uchiha-san remains an active threat to Konoha and to Naruto specifically.”

Sakura has never been on a team with Kakashi and Naruto at the same time, let alone as her _genin_ team. His son and Sasuke also were not on the same genin team, the latter having been assigned another Uchiha to better shape his kekkei genkai. 

“Do you know where he is at this moment?” Morino asked directly.

She shrugged, “I’ve no idea where he is. Or if that was even actually him I saw this morning, though I fail to understand why someone would walk around masked as a traitor to the village.”

Well. That was… He looked towards Itachi, who had given up all pretenses and was staring at the woman with abject sorrow.

The Yondaime frowned. Soulbonds were supposed to be untouchable. Not even the Yamanaka, who focused on the mind and spirit, had ever been able to accomplish anything with a Soulbond. It simply existed beyond mortal control. And for Itachi to still have it, but this woman did not?

He watched as the woman, obliviously, huffed in irritation as the interrogation continued. What she said next was also noteworthy in the fact it was almost gibberish—Tsunade the Hokage? Who in their right mind would ever think that was a good idea? And he was dead? To the Kyuubi some twenty years ago?

Ibiki abruptly left the subject, done with his questions. In moments, he opened the door to the observation room and entered. It was a small room, but there was enough room that it was still comfortable with the three of them in there.

Ibiki nodded to Minato, “Hokage-sama,” he greeted gruffly.

He moved to stand next to Itachi, still turned to not present his back to his Hokage, but able to watch as the subject huddled into herself to conserve warmth in the chill of the interrogation chair. He was silent for a few moments, sighed, then said simply, “I believe her.”

Huh.

Itachi didn’t say anything, or even acknowledge Ibiki’s entrance. His hand had fallen to his other forearm, where he was gripping it with some force, his head bowed over it. The Yondaime felt his heart twist for him. This went beyond some foreign power taking control of his wife; something that could be identified, sourced, and reversed. But this? This was unheard of. What had happened to Sakura, and who was this woman?

Morino continued, “That woman, Haruno-san, never lied during the entirety of her interview.”

“What she is saying is clearly not the truth,” he said, as a point of order.

His interrogator shook his head, “Never said it made sense, Hokage-sama. But she didn’t lie; as far as she knew, every single thing _was_ the truth. She has knowledge that Uchiha Sakura-san does not, could not, have. She clearly has experience with interrogations—and not just in general, but specifically. With _me_. As if she had been on rotation here, under my tutelage. And I don’t think I’ve ever said three words to Sakura-san personally.”

Itachi suddenly stood, then made to leave without looking at either of them, “Wait here,” he said as he shut the door behind him.

He took a bit longer to enter the room than was warranted by the short distance. But when he did, his face was once again wiped of all emotion in a perfect Uchiha mask.

She was surprised by his entrance, clearly not realizing it was him who was entering the space. The electronic mic picked up the shriek of the metal bindings as she instantly tried to flee upon realizing he was the one who had entered. Minato knew first hand how strong those bindings were, and to give as much as that in a chakra sealed room clearly demonstrated a strength that Uchiha Sakura did not have without her Sage mode.

Itachi didn’t pause as he entered, and sat down in the interrogator chair. He neatly folded his hands, kept his movement slow and deliberate, but there was sadness and pain in his eyes that his blank face could not completely hide. Minato felt his lips curl down in sympathy for the other man.

The microphones picked up the subject’s harsh breathing as she settled back into her bindings, unable to break them. The chief torturer and Hokage watched in silence as Itachi watched the doppelgänger shake in fear watching him. As if she actually was a trapped chuunin before a S-Class criminal, and not a Slug Sage before her Soulbonded husband. Her eyes didn’t rise from his shoulders, and she watched with cautious trepidation.

Silent moments passed, and Minato felt that Itachi being faced with the visual of his terrified wife, and feeling in his being that it was her, had put a pause on whatever he had planned.

“What do you want?” She whispered first, voice hoarse.

Itachi visibly steeled himself, rolling his shoulders just slightly back, and said, “Confirmation. I have a... question that you may assist me with.”

Quickly, the subject responded with, “I won’t tell you anything about Naruto. Or Sasuke,” which caused Minato to reassess her. She was loyal to her false relations, which was very interesting.

“It is not about either of them.” Itachi affirmed, watching her. He closed his eyes, took a breath, and said, “You said you’re a medic. I have something for you to examine for me.”

That was unexpected. What was he talking about? Minato looked to Ibiki, who shook his head. He didn’t know either.

The subject, however, was glancing around the space, as if looking for something. When it clicked just what she was looking for, the Yondaime understood what his interrogator meant, when he said that the subject was familiar with the T&I. She was looking at the areas where the hidden cameras were on either side in the observation chambers, and towards the door’s tiny looking window, where the rotating patrol looked through. She clearly knew where those were, and the protocols of the rooms.

Itachi also caught her motions, and she visibly twitched when he said, “No one will come in here until I’m done.” Minato humphed a bit at the pointed remark—it was as much for her as for them in the room, “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

Her shoulders stiff, she took a deeper breath. “What do you want?”

She flinched when Itachi moved the interrogator chair around the side of the table, shying away back into her chair as he came within easy reaching distance.

However, her reaction was nothing compared to the room when Itachi revealed what clearly looked like a Soulmark on his forearm. What?! What was going on? Where and when did that get there? There was no such thing as having more than one Soulmark! And he just revealed this now?

Minato moved forward and leaned on the small table as Ibiki began crying out denials, nearly pressing his nose against the glass to get a better look at his protégé’s forearm. It was a small Mark, and predominantly placed in the pale flesh around it. He moved toward the button that would allow two way communication into the room, to get some answers, damned what Itachi asked moments ago.

 _“Is that_ **_really_ ** _a—”“—tell me about this?”_

 _“That’s impossible! I’ve never—”“—medic-nin call a birthmark,_ Uchiha-san. Can you leave now?”

His hand froze over the button for communication, “Quite down, Morino,” he hissed to his obviously shocked and somewhat babbling interrogator. The subject had no idea what she was looking at.

_She had no idea what she was looking at._

Itachi caught it too, and briefly looked over at where they stood. ‘Do not interrupt,’ he said with his eyes and a slight shake of his head, before he turned back to watch the woman.

Ibiki coughed and apologized to his Hokage quietly, his shoulders hitching higher in embarrassment. He never liked having his faults pointed out, even if they were literally seeing the impossible.

Itachi continued, “I am afraid you’ll need to further assess. This Mark… was not here before this morning.”

She didn’t move her eyes from his collarbone. “Bruise, then. Lesser shinobi get them frequently.”

The corner of Itachi’s mouth twitched, and Minato knew he was amused by the snark, but it was small and quickly vanished. “Please,” he asked, and that seemed to confuse the woman.

The observation room was still and quiet as they watched the scene unfold, the near painful slowness in which the subject did as Itachi had asked.

She still didn’t seem to know what she was looking at, even as she examined it. That was... He frowned. Every person learned at a very young age about the Marks that dotted the skin of the adults, until their destined Soulmate touched them for the first time.

Minato’s forefinger started to tap on the table as Itachi twitched _right_ before the woman could grab his arm with both of her hands. He didn’t think it was intentional, because the Uchiha had thus far been very poised and slow with his movements to prevent frightening the woman unnecessarily, and he smoothly changed the motion into leaning back into his chair. The woman had recoiled from the action, frowning slightly at his throat, before she went back to her examination.

Then she simply reached out and placed her thumb on the Mark and wiped outward, as if testing for adhesion.

He sighed when the Mark was gone. Of course it was.

“Impossible,” Ibiki whispered next to him, fingers biting into the table. “This is impossible. I studied this for years as a chuunin… impossible!”

“Apparently it’s quite possible,” Minato murmured, as he watched his protégé leave the room. He sighed again, and pushed against the wall to stand fully. He waited a moment to give Itachi time to depart—he would find him later—then exited the observation room, plan forming in his mind.

“Joining me, Morino-san?” He held the door for Ibiki, who shook himself and hurried out, shoulders once again hitched nearer to his ears than usual.

He let his head of the T&I department center himself before the man opened the door without another word, then followed him into room 7B.

The woman was obviously floored by his entrance, initially looking up hopefully towards Morino, then overcome with shock when she spotted him.

Minato moved the chair back to the original position, so he could face her. This close, it was startling how much this woman looked like the Sakura he knew… and yet not. It wasn’t like looking at a henge where you could often see the ‘seams’ of where the ninja stitched the illusion over themselves, points that didn’t move with quite the same natural movement of a person without such a jutsu over themselves.

Her Seal of a Hundred was gone, which was the first, most obvious difference. But her hair was also more jagged along the edges, just a bit shorter and more uneven, as if cut without the care that he knew Uchiha Sakura took with her grooming. Her face was also thinner, sharper, giving her a slightly more… hardened appearance, more kunoichi than budding matriarch. It was strange, and he wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t specifically look for differences.

“Well, I’m afraid I have some good news and some bad news.” He stated.

She gaped at him, eyes bulging, mouth moving silently.

“Good news is, I don’t think you’re a threat to Konoha, so you’ll be released from your current confines as a class three prisoner.”

“Y-Yondaime…?!” 

“And that’s my bad news. Not that I’m alive—that I am quite happy about—but that I don’t think you’re where you think you are.”

“I’m not… what? What?!” She twitched in her chair, head jerking from Morino back to him.

“I don’t know how you came here, and that is something we will need to find out.” He tilted his head, mind running jutsu and their structures in the back of his mind.

“No, no, no, stop,” She rubbed her face briskly, chains jingling, “Let me get this right—you’re _actually_ the _Yondaime_? This… this can’t be real, you’re _dead_. This has to be a, a genjutsu—is this the ability of the mangekyou?!”

He cut her off, to end that thought before it could take further root in her mind. “I realize this is probably equally hard for you to understand, but you’re not in your own Konoha. Our Uchiha Itachi does not have the mangekyou.” He spread open his hands, “I am quite alive. I think… you somehow ended up in a world not your own, a parallel world that’s close but not quite the same.”

“I…” She trailed off, eyes still darting between himself and the jounin in the room, “I don’t… That’s impossible. You’re talking of a, a, a wormhole or something! Those don’t exist! This all can be explained by genjutsu, or, or henge!”

“Eh,” He crossed his arms and leaned back, scratching at his nose, “Other planes exist, like the Toad Summon’s world, it’s hardly a leap for parallel ones, and if they exist, paths between might form. I am probably the most familiar with space-time jutsu in the village, as my Flash uses some of it learned from Senju Tobirama’s own abilities.”

“The Nidaime Hokage?” Her brow furrowed, even as her eyes watered from her whiplashing emotions. “He used space-time jutsu?”

He blinked. Well… that was different. But it gave him an idea. “Here, tell me, do you understand the basic limitations of genjutsu?”

She rubbed at her face again, a more weary rub, but recited, “Genjutsu are limited by the size, complexity, and creativity of the caster, and the knowledge of the victim. Any error can allow a victim to break free, the more obvious the easier, and all genjutsu have a limited scope and depth due to a limited chakra pool. Once an error has been spotted, a careful manipulation of the victim’s chakra can dislodge and break it.”

He nodded, “Correct; straight out of an Academy lecture.” He then turned to Morino, “I think I will take our guest for a bit of a walk.”

Morino, always professional in front of people he felt suspicious about, didn’t react other than raising a brow before he removed the chains binding their guest to the chair. She flinched back initially, but allowed him to unlock her bindings without further movement, her lower lip tucked under her teeth in clear confusion and worry.

Ibiki finished and went to the door, opening it outward and holding it for the two still in the room. She sat in her chair a moment longer than necessary, lifting her head to face him. “How do you know I won’t attack you and try to escape the first chance I get?”

He grinned at her, “Lots of small reasons, but the main one is that I also have a ‘Flee on Sight’ on my bingo book entry for longer than you’ve been alive. If you can one up me, you deserve to escape.”

She frowned at him, just the slightest downturn to her lips, “But if you’re wearing a henge, you’re not the Yondaime at all, and could even be a genin. At that point it would behoove me to get away from your control as quickly as I could and regroup with allies.”

“Barring the fact that we’re in a chakra sealed room and I’m still somehow looking like this—which would negate the genin possibility at least—then I would invite you to try and see.” He didn’t lose his cheerful grin, and she returned it cautiously, uncertain how to take his not quite threat.

“Hokage-sama, you really shouldn’t dare an unknown shinobi to attack you.” Morino griped quietly, crossing his arms over his chest as Minato passed him to step outside the room.

He ignored him, stopping in the hall and facing the doorway. “And... Haruno-san, was it?” He would have to remember to address her by this name, and not his typical Sakura-chan.

“Yes, uh, um, Hokage-sama?” She fumbled for a name to call him. She rubbed at her chaffed and scuffed wrists as she stood and cautiously walked to him. He watched in mild fascination as she sighed upon exiting, undoubtedly feeling her chakra returning from the suppressed room, then watched as a green healing light engulfed her hands. A quick pass, and the blemishes on her wrists were simply gone. She lifted her legs one at a time, and those marks too vanished, only a trace of blood along her left pants cuff showed that it had been damaged at all.

He caught Morino watching just as closely from behind her, and they shared a look between them. Uchiha Sakura was a Slug Sage, and thus held bottomless potential for medical healing, but… she was not a medic-nin, not to the level this woman was. Medical Sage abilities were very, very good, but it was slow, delicate work. Her otherwise medical abilities barely passed a genin in skill.

“Haruno-san, if you will,” he returned his gaze to her and asked. He held out his hand.

She glanced at it suspiciously a moment, then looked to Ibiki for some reason, before stepping forward and placing her hand in his.

He Flashed them out.

**XXXXX**

She gasped and jerked free, flailing until she fell to her hands and knees upon the roof of the T&I building. His guard should be around here somewhere, and its position was close enough that his idea would work fine. 

“I have been told it’s discombobulating the first time someone accompanies me on a Flash.” He crouched down to her level, a semi-apologetic grin on his face.

“That—that…” she tried to stand, but fell back to her bottom, her disconnected bearings clashing unhelpfully with her obvious confusion. “ _Yellow Flash!_ ” She whispered in reverent tones, eyes once again bulging in her head.

Just how different was her world to his, he wondered. Obviously enough that the most loyal shinobi in the village killed his beloved family, but he still learned his signature ability and became the fourth Hokage at some point. “Fascinating,” he hummed, then turned his focus back to her.

“But! I didn’t bring you here for a show and tell of my technique, though I suppose that does reinforce my theory and negate yours.” He helped her stand back up. He reached out to her shoulder to steady her—putting a seal there, just in case she _did_ flee—until she got her balance back. “We’re here so you can establish you’re not under a genjutsu. I want you to look at Konoha, and spot the differences, until you’re certain in your own mind this is real.”

“You’re… you’re being… this is strange.” She stared at him, shaking her head. She took a step away, and he let her. “Protocol states— _my_ Konoha protocol states that all unknown foreign shinobi are to be isolated and assessed until their origins and intentions are proven. If what you say is true—and I am _not_ saying it is—I shouldn’t be out of the T&I cell, let alone on the roof!” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, as if he was a misbehaving genin; almost perfectly mimicking his wife, the head of his guard detail, his sometime assistant Iruka... actually, why did everyone eventually look at him like that?

“Ours actually says the same,” He rubbed the back of his head, and his grin widened as she scowled harder. “But there’s another rule that circumvents it, and I’ll tell it to you later. First things first though; look around and name the differences.”

She huffed, crossed her arms, and scowled at him for a bit longer. Then she tossed her arms in a visual of her giving in, and began to scan her bright green eyes across the horizon.

He could see the moment when she discovered the reason he brought her to the roof. Her eyes first tracked over it, then jerked back, her mouth falling open again. He felt her chakra perform a perfect disruption, an academy standard to remove genjutsu, then a far more advanced version where her chakra completely vanished from detection. She kept it there for an impressive count of five, then released it in a rush. She fell back down to her legs, and tears ran down her face as she stared at the Hokage monument.

“So you see… this is not your Konoha.” He crouched back down, speaking softly. She shook her head in agreement. It was times like this he really hated his empathy, and he cursed whatever entity brought her here and all the pain it has caused and will cause. 

“Our own Sakura has apparently been either replaced or displaced by you. You seem unaware of this fact until now, so we can only assume it was not due to your own actions. However, she is still a very important part to this village, my village, and I’m certain you wish to return home yourself. So for now, I’m going to keep you as a guest of Konoha, under our protection and hospitality, as we try to reverse whatever has caused this.” She sniffled, whined a bit in the back of her throat, and nodded.

He paused for a moment, then asked to confirm, “Do you know where Itachi is at this moment?”

“One point four kilometers northwest from here,” she said distractedly. She sniffed again, wiping at her eyes, then froze as the realization struck. Her head turned into the direction, and she stared, uncomprehending.

He sighed. “And that brings me back to the rule that circumvents your imprisonment in T&I until they clear you. Tell me, what do you know of Soulmates?”

**XXXXX**

He found Itachi where she had said he was. Truthfully, he would have guessed the other man would have been in training ground ten anyway, as it was where he often went if he wanted to be alone.

Itachi was sitting in the shade of a tree, a listless look on his face as he stared at his wrist that sat cupped in his lap, where Minato knew his original Soulmark had been. 

He felt the loss and pain that emanated from his protégé, practically visible around him as he sat there in an otherwise beautiful training ground. He frowned unhappily, both for Itachi and for his own wife, who was certainly feeling the ripples from him; he could feel the growing concern on her end.

He moved to sit quietly on the other side of the tree, next to his replacement. He didn’t say anything, knowing that Itachi would speak when he needed to. He knew why he was there.

Training ground ten was a Uchiha exclusive one, meant to train their fire abilities, and a majority of the clan were fire types. Nature had thus been left to mostly grow on its own, free of the usual lost shuriken and kunai, scarred wood, and churned earth. The fire jutsu used also kept the less hardy plants from the area, and large trees covered the grounds where they hadn’t been intentionally cleared for fire breaks. 

“I didn’t know at first,” Itachi eventually spoke. “Nothing was off when I awoke. She was still asleep in bed, and I went to go make breakfast. I saw it as I was cooking; I didn’t know what it was at first, didn’t believe it to be possible. I was going to ask if she knew what had caused it when she came down. Then…” He heaved a breath, closing his eyes. He leaned further back into the tree, letting his head rest against the bark. “I made the connection when she said… said those things that the other me had done in her world. It was confirmed when she said she didn’t know where I was.”

“Well,” Minato hummed, staring up into the tree branches. “She knows where you are now.”

Itachi sighed, almost seeming to depress with the motion, and didn’t respond.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, the birds chirping quite disproportionate to the emotions of the two men. 

“You know the laws, Itachi,” Eventually Minato spoke up, his voice quite, “Though this is unprecedented, and I’m certain I’ll catch flack from the counsel; you are responsible for her under section seventeen, paragraph ten. However, I have already taken initiative and put her into the ward of the laboratories, and to begin to try and find out how and why she came here, and if it can be reversed.”

He saw Itachi nod once in assent, out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you want to be…” he trailed off. This had never happened before—someone’s Soulmate being taken and replaced by a doppelgänger. Minato understood the heart of people better than most, understood that some would feel betrayed by the swap, and hate the replacement as much as they love the original, and at best wanting nothing to do with them.

“I will be kept abreast,” Itachi responded, his voice quiet but firm.

The Yondaime felt a little bit of relief at the choice, at the affirmation that his apprentice was still the man he thought he was, and nodded. “It will be done. For what it is worth,” He said, taking a breath, “I am sorry, Itachi. We’ll find her.”

Itachi, surprisingly, shook his head. His face broke the Uchiha mask for the second time today, tears falling down his face as he sobbed. “There is no _finding_ her; I know where she is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was posted early for a few reasons; One, it's Halloween, and with the pandemic, no one is probably doing anything, DESPITE it being on a Full Blue Moon and Saturday. Two, the first chapter had 6.66k words, and as of now 13 comments, so it's just... fitting, haha, to post on Halloween. And three, Halloween is my favorite holiday, so I do what I want.


	3. Knowledge

Sakura sat numb in her room, still reeling from the revelation of this morning. She was in a different _world_.

She had been taken by the Hokage—the freaking _Yondaime_ Hokage—to this building, which in her world no longer existed. The old laboratory that had been near the hospital had been torn down, and part of the expanse that had been converted into a further wing of the hospital. Then a newer, much smaller and more limited laboratory was put in its place. Tsunade had felt that training the newest medical ninja, and giving a wing dedicated to chakra healing only, was more important than conducting experiments into the limits of human forms, which had been the old laboratory’s purpose. Personally, Sakura felt it also had to do with the fact that it was where Orochimaru had developed his obsession with eternal life and started his experiments.

She shook her head, trying to shake free her wandering thoughts. Focus.

She had been processed when she arrived; various samples taken from her for further study, such as from under her nails, a swab from her cheek, and some of her hair plucked directly from her head. She had been brought to what was assigned to be her room, which included a sitting area, kitchenette, and attached bath. She was handed a set of scrubs and a yukata, and told to shower. She was too numb to feel much by then, but it was still a bit disconcerting to realize that the PJs she was wearing were _not_ actually her favorite pink set. They were instead a nearly identical set; same size, same shade, same shape, the only difference being these were made of silk.

That woman… the _other_ Sakura. Who was she? More importantly, _where_ was she? Did she cause this swap, displacement, replacement? What was she like? They must have been at least somewhat similar, besides their appearance, for them to have the same taste in bedwear. That was the only thing she knew about the woman so far, except...

Sakura looked towards the left side of the room, where she could tell the direction where he was. Somewhere near the training grounds, where he had been for as long as she realized he was there. Uchiha Itachi. It was… strange, to be able to just know where someone was. Similar to the sensation of knowing where her limbs were. She just knew it, without having to think about it.

The Yondaime had given her a brief lesson, but how was she supposed to just trust that it was because they were ‘soulmates’? It was absurd. Ridiculous. The stuff from cheesy romance novels. Not even good cheesy romance novels, where it’s love at first sight, since she certainly didn’t feel anything but stark terror at his presence.

And yet… he was _there_ , finally moving from the training grounds, heading eastward at a walk. She shouldn’t know that, but she did.

There was a sudden, single knock sounded on the door. She jumped, having not expected it. The laboratory assistant—a woman who she had never met and who was one of those painfully awkward, shy, tech geeks—hadn’t mentioned anyone coming by after she had done her exam. But, Sakura supposed, it was still quite early in the day, no reason that the “Information Exchange expert” as the Hokage called them, wouldn’t stop by. Someone who would sit down and itemize the differences in this world and her own, both for her understanding and for the possible benefit of Konoha.

“Coming,” she called. She briskly rubbed her face, in case there were any traces of her tears from earlier.

She went to open the door—a formality in this room, as she recognized that she was still a prisoner of Konoha and lacked the autonomy to truly forbid entry to anyone, no matter if the Hokage had called her a “guest”—and blinked in surprise at the figure slumped on the other side.

“Shikamaru?” She blurted before she could think about it.

The man, who in her world was Nara Shikamaru, certainly looked the part of her friend. But _he_ would have returned her greeting; this man didn’t, raising an eyebrow at her instead. “I see you know me,” he sighed, then his shoulders slumped even more, “Saves time, I suppose. Can I come in? The Hokage sent me to itemize the differences in our worlds.”

“Um, yes,” She stepped aside and he wandered in, taking the shortest distance possible to sit in one of her two kitchen chairs. She shut the door, took a breath, and went to sit on the opposite side of him—the further seat, but also the one that faced the door. She wondered if it had been laziness on his part to take the shorter distance, or consideration to her discomfort that he allowed her the seat that could be the better defensive spot. Knowing Shikamaru, it was probably both.

The man, Nara she supposed she should call him, had already dropped a small note pad to the table with a lazy thump, followed by a cheap pen that looked like he stole it from the Hokage Tower, and was currently fiddling with a small recording device.

“As this is for Konoha, our conversation is going to be recorded for ease.” He pressed a button, and a red light flicked on, “Begin tape one, Hanakama Building, room 114. It is 1357, Thursday, July 3rd. Haruno Sakura and Nara Shikamaru. No others are present in the room.”

He then slumped back into his chair and looked at her. It was truly surprising how much he looked like her Shikamaru—there didn’t even seem to be any scars or other itemizing differences. His hair was styled the same, he dressed the same, his earrings that she knew that Team Nine had gotten upon graduation still hung in his ears, and his flat, ‘I’d rather be sleeping’ look was the same. She reminded herself that while this man looked like Shikamaru, and maybe even acted like him, he wasn’t her Shikamaru.

“So, you greeted me by my first name. How do you know me?” Nara asked.

She cleared her throat, “You were my classmate in the ninja academy, and we graduated the same year and both of us transitioned to genin rather than return to school or quit. You were placed on a team with Yamanaka Ino and Akamichi Choji under Asuma-sensei. We became friends when my team was dispersed, as previously only Ino had been during the first few years of the academy. You had just made chuunin, the first of our graduating class, and I joined your team for a majority of my time when I served my genin duties before I became a chuunin myself. Even after I was promoted, we remained good friends and colleagues.”

Nara had made a couple notes during her statement, like Morino had done, but unlike him he responded with, “Here, we were classmates at the academy, graduated together, and little else. I still formed a team under Asuma-sensei with Ino and Choji, became the first chuunin of our year, but you never joined us for missions. I think you—the other you, anyway, uhg, this is going to be bothersome—may be friends with Ino, but she has never invited you to gatherings in which Choji or I attend, so I am uncertain if that is still true, or to what level. We may have gone on a joint mission once or twice as chuunin, but it was with a group and we did not spend time together as anything but fellow shinobi under the Leaf.”

He waved his hand, as if to shoo away the current topic for he followed up with, “Let’s start with the major events in Konoha, from her founding. We can branch out from there. We could probably spend all day on the lives of our classmates, and I hate small talk, even world dimensional small talk,” he grumbled as if already exhausted.

“Alright,” she agreed. “I’ll start, then you can point out the differences. I’ll make some tea, would you like some?”

He nodded, like she guessed he would. Her Shikamaru would never turn down someone else’s work.

Sakura went the five short steps into the kitchenette—just a long counter and sink, really, but there were a few appliances that improved her quality of life—and got the electric kettle out. As she did, she began her tale of the founding of her home.

She told of the Senju and the Uchiha, of how they reached across the divide to form the first hidden village within the warring era. She told of the betrayal of Uchiha Madara, and his banishment, how peace was for the first time achieved. She spoke of the shinobi war that made heroes of Konohanin such as the Yondaime and Kakashi. She spoke of the Kyuubi attack, the Yondaime’s sacrifice, and the peace that followed under the Sandaime. She spoke of the attack by Sound and Sand, and the brief war that followed, and how the Godaime returned to Konoha and became her mentor, and ruled for the last few years. She made certain to be detailed in her history, with dates and names, thankful that it had been one of her favorite topics back in school. 

“And that’s it,” she concluded. She took a grateful drink of her tea, helping her parched throat. “I saw the Hokage monument—so I know at least the Nidaime was different here.”

Nara sighed from his seat, sinking a bit further in, “Troublesome,” he huffed, and she couldn’t help but smile at the familiar term and tone. With great apparent effort, he sat back up and slumped forward onto his elbows against the table. “Yeah, the Nidaime here is Uchiha Izuna-sama, and fun fact, he was the one to implement the rule that forbade relatives being back to back Hokage. Didn’t think there would be a reason, but in your world it apparently happened, and three of the five Hokage were directly related, so there you go.

“Regardless, our founding was roughly the same; the Shodai Hokage was Senju Hashirama-sama, the Nidaime was Uchiha Izuna-sama (who killed his brother, Madara, so apparently saved us all _that_ headache), the Sandaime was Sarutobi Hiruzen-sama, and the Yondaime is Namikaze Minato-sama. We do not yet have a Godaime, but the current named candidate to take over in the next year or so is Uchiha Itachi-sama.”

“Eh??” Sakura fell off her chair in shock. She popped back up, “Uchiha Itachi is going to be the next Hokage?! The Yondaime is going to retire?!” Her brain populated for a second then oddly latched onto, “At age **_46_**?!”

“Hey, I didn’t flip when you said _Tsunade_ was the Godaime.” Nara pointed out grumpily, “We’ll never get through this if you keep acting out. Troublesome, emotional women.”

Sakura scowled at him fiercely, _I’ll show you troublesome! Ka-cha!_ She took a breath and beat down her inner voice, to prevent herself from strangling him—something that she sometimes had a desire to do to the sexist Nara in her own world. “What’s so ridiculous that Tsunade-shishou is Godaime? How is that a worse reaction than me finding out a nukenin in my world is going to be the Hokage of this?”

“Was Tsunade-hime a part of the village when she was made Hokage?”

“Well, no, she had been brought back for that purpose.”

“So she was basically a nukenin herself. Was she out drinking and gambling?”

“She was _retired_ and—”

“Did she _stop_ drinking and gambling upon returning?”

“She is her own person—”

“And those debts and habits never caused an issue with the counsel or Konoha?”

“It is not the same thing!” She banged her fists on the table. “Tsunade-shishou left the village after her husband died in her arms from the war— _not because she murdered her entire family for fun, including the infants!_ ” She had read the reports, some of the firsts after Tsunade granted her permission to pursue the documents of the Hokage tower. She had wanted to feel closer to Sasuke, to understand his pain better. She had nightmares of Uchiha for weeks after instead.

Nara looked at the noticeable divots into the metal table top, where her fists left their impressions. He edged back slightly in his chair, before looking back at her.

“We can agree to disagree. I—truly and honestly—believe that there had to be another reason for Itachi-sama to have become a nukenin in your world. We’re ninja, the world is hardly ever simply black and white, and I know the man far too well to think he did it for the hell of it.” He shrugged, “We seem to be similar enough in this world to yours for a lot of things to carry over, things that give me a headache to think about. Genetics for one; you’re statistically more likely to be hit by lightning eight times, _in a row,_ than be born.” He nodded to his empty tea cup, which she had made to her Shikamaru’s preference. “And yet you and I have had the same classmates, I had the same teammates with similar promotion structure, and even with similar likes and dislikes.”

“He tortured Sasuke. _Twice_.” She hissed.

Nara paused as he was reaching for the tea pot.

“He made him watch him murder their parents when Sasuke was eight, and then when he was twelve, he shattered his ribs, arm and collarbone, and used the Tsukuyomi on him. Sasuke was hospitalized for two weeks from damage to his trachea from being choked almost to death.” She leaned forward, and said in a low voice, “Maybe he’s not the man _you_ think he is.”

Nara locked gazes with her, black against green, for a moment, then two. She knew his mind was very busy, even when he was at his laziest. It was innate to the man, and she knew he was thinking upon her words, assessing them from multiple points; he would see her point. But then he just shrugged again as he finished filling up his cup. “If he is that psychotic, why not just kill his brother and be done with it, as he did for all the others? Why keep him alive?”

She blinked, and sat back, off kilter from the unexpected point, “W-what?”

“What’s the point of keeping Sasuke alive? Why torture and not kill? It’s much more effort, especially twice.”

“I—” She started, then stopped. She didn’t know.

“The illogic of the choice to keep him alive leads to three answers, and two of those we can exclude immediately. One is that he is incapable of killing Sasuke—which, at the squishy ages of eight and twelve, extremely unlikely—and the other is that he was too stupid to know that his actions would have lasting, negative effects on him. Namely, that Sasuke would probably try to kill him with every fiber of his being, and the Sasuke I know is hardly a weak person, _without_ that drive. Itachi-sama is very capable, and very smart; and as an S-class criminal in your world for some 14 years, he has to be there as well. There has to be another reason neither you nor I know, something that would make him focus a not insignificant weapon directly against him. So, agree to disagree.”

She closed her mouth with a snap when she realized it was hanging open.

The recorder buzzed unpleasantly, letting them know that the cassette was full. Nara grumbled, taking out a new one from one of the many pockets in his jacket and replacing it. He started the recording and recited off the same spiel as before, only changing the appropriate sections.

“Let’s get back to the reason for why I’m here, I’ve only got an hour left slotted for today. Are you familiar with the Bingo book of Konoha and the other villages?”

She sighed, leaning back, agreeing silently to drop the previous subject. She nodded, then affirmed verbally for the recorder. “Yes. I helped audit the Konoha one, but I am at least familiar with the other villages.”

“Can you tell me them, alphabetically, please?”

**XXXXX**

Yakushi Kabuto loved his job.

He had worked in the Hanakama building nearly as long as he had been a ninja, joining the team at the behest of his jounin sensei. His medical prowess and thirst for knowledge had quickly allocated his ability to the medical research laboratory. It was here that he found his niche; serving his village, pursuing the mysteries of the world through the mysteries of the body. Mostly the bodies of Konoha’s unwilling or dead enemies, but still. Science was sometimes a harsh thing.

He hummed happily as he flipped through his clipboard of his newest, and most beloved, pet project. He had repeatedly through the years submitted for grants to study Soulmarks, to better understand how they came about and why they were. What were their limitations and could they be manipulated? Those grants may have never made it past the initial intake review, but now his subject Haruno Sakura had landed neatly in his lap little more than a month ago.

It was such a unique case. How did she get here? A rift in the universe, a wormhole between parallel worlds? Was she sucked here, or shunted here? What happened to the original, did they merge or remain separate? Was there a chain of events, so there is an infinite amount of Sakuras shuffling one world off, or was it just the two? Why did Uchiha still have his half of the Soulbond if—by all accounts—the subject did not upon her arrival? The Soulbond formed over time after the first touch, the earliest recorded at three months and the latest at two years, and only after both had accomplished their touch. That fact alone would have kept him happy with this study.

What made him almost giddy, however, was the fact that their Soulbond had been of _location_. That was far too on the nose to be a coincidence. Was it fate that knew the Original Sakura would be replaced, thus making the bond a location type in preparation? How did that factor into this actual alien Sakura? Was it the same fate that brought her here, or was it fate adjusting for her coming here? Or maybe it was what allowed her to come here at all, as if the soul bond had been something like empathy or chakra limitation, it never would have happened?

He was of the belief that fate did not _control_ the Soulmates to touch the other’s Mark, but that through an accumulation of facts, the other just _ended up_ touching just that spot (which was against the generally accepted thesis). He’d really like to get his hands onto a halfway bonded couple one day, to see if he could test his theory. Unfortunately, the first touches were nearly always done immediately after one another, with the average in under a minute despite a few outliers that spanned days.

“Good morning, Haruno-san,” He greeted politely. She looked up and frowned at him, eyes distrusting though she stiffly returned the greeting. He had been amused to learn that he was a traitor in her world, a spy of Orochimaru and his right hand man. He had no honest idea how that had happened, as he never interacted with the Sannin when he was alive.

“I hope you slept well?” He asked. It was important for his subjects to be well rested. Even the ones he knew would never see the light of day again, he made certain they could get their sleep. It would interfere with his experiments otherwise.

“Fine.” She said shortly. She had not wanted him to be her doctor in the Hanakama building, citing her experience with Other him, but he would sooner dig up Orochimaru from his shallow grave to dance the jig than let this opportunity slip from his fingers. As he was the best in his field, and that was the field she was assigned to, the Hokage had noted her concerns, but overruled them. As long as he acted appropriately, within the boundaries set, there was nothing she could submit a claim against.

He hummed, “Haruno-san, you were briefed by the nurse this morning, correct? So this information shouldn’t be a surprise. Today, we’re going to try and isolate your chakra frequency, to try and determine if this is an avenue we should pursue to try and send you back to where you came from. Do you have any questions before we begin?”

“Will this be painful? The nurse wasn’t clear.” She said, her tone almost making it an accusation. Thus far, he had been limited to mostly exams and experiments that worked around the subject, not on the subject herself.

“The initial exam, no.” He said, moving his lips into a smile. “But if we find a correlation there would be some, ah, stimulation to your chakra. As it’s an outside force manipulating your spirit and physical manifestation, it may be considered painful for you. Different people have different reactions, some feel pressure but no pain, while others feel a mild burning or tugging sensation.” He didn’t mention those who hearts gave out during—they had not been eased into the process—or that one who had started to uncontrollably bleed both externally and internally—that had only been the one time. “We’ll do it in stages, with breaks in between to assess if we can go further. You’re a guest of the Hanakama, not a prisoner, so we are taking extra precautions. ”

She snorted in disbelief at that, and looked away, “Right. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Very well,” He directed her to lay on the operating table. He strapped her ankles down, latched the belt at her hips, and then the straps that kept her shoulders and arms out and away from her body, ensuring that the cushioning on the straps were in place to prevent any inadvertent damage. The straps were largely there to ensure his subject couldn’t move away from this particular position, which was the optimal way to access their chakra pathways. His female lab technician assisted him, doing the straps and attaching the monitors that he knew Uchiha would have had an issue with _him_ doing due to their location.

The Uchiha was the one major flaw in his study plans. For one, he himself was not up for more of an examination other than the initial brief test he had in regards to his unheard of second Soulbond to the subject. For the other, he also was very conservative, nixing the more, hmmm, _extreme_ of the examinations that Kabuto wanted to do. It took a month to get him to agree to this one, and only after exhausting other, less invasive and thus less helpful tests. He never really hated that part of the Konoha code before, where the alien bond partner was under the control and responsibility of the Konoha one, but it certainly was getting in the way to have to go around him.

Unsurprisingly, the man in question was already waiting in the overhead observation room when he walked in. Uchiha nodded to him as he entered, but didn’t otherwise greet him as was his typical behavior, and Kabuto returned the favor. He stood near the far wall, looking down into the chamber below where the subject was, but positioned where she was very unlikely to look.

Kabuto had quickly figured out that the man sent his shadow clones to observe the experiments, as him arriving in person would have notified Haruno of his presence. It was a common feature of location bonds to not follow clones; it was much rarer that they _could_ tell where the clones of the other were. He itched to explore if fate had arranged that, knowing the distrust between the two, or if it was just a happenstance. 

“Haruno-san,” he said, pressing the button to pipe his voice over the intercom. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes,” She said, her eyes closed. She was lax in her bindings, as awkward as the T-shaped position allowed. He liked that about her; she was a medic-nin herself, so understood the benefits of being a good patient.

He removed his finger from the button, and moved to the nearby instrument panel. He fiddled with it for a bit, powering it on and ensuring everything was operating as it should. When he was satisfied, he flicked the switch that performed the first step. He was quite excited for today’s experiment, as he thought he had caught a few anomalies in her chakra from the other tests. This one today would clarify those anomalies from just the standard deviations most had within their chakra. He had a working hypothesis that she was brought here from a chakra event, related to space-time jutsu. If this was true, then a particular application of chakra may send her back. It also happened to explore his _other_ hypothesis that Soulmarks were tied to chakra and not something indecipherable, like a soul, despite the name. He hoped that her being so freshly Marked (he had never gotten a subject so close to their Marking) would still have some indications that this would expose.

The machines all started a low hum, and his subject twitched in her bindings, but slowly relaxed. He wondered if she’d be one of those for which this procedure wasn’t painful. He doubted it, most weren’t that lucky.

He turned a few dials, listening to the varying tones of the hum of the electronics, and watching the indicators. The main component continually spat out sheets of paper indicating, among other things, various colors in the different aspects in the subject. He played the system a bit like a musical instrument, tuning it until the green and blue lines—the subject’s chakra and spiritual energy, the latter of which is commonly theorized to include the Soulbond—were the topmost.

“There we are,” He smiled, making a note of the particular settings.

“What are you doing, Yakushi-sensei?” A voice spoke next to him.

Kabuto blinked as he was broken mid-thought, then turned and smiled to the shadow clone of the subject’s babysitter. The clone rarely spoke during the examinations. “Ah, Uchiha-dono, I thought a briefing package had been delivered to you yesterday?”

Uchiha shook his head, “It was. However, I was unable to read it fully as I was called to attend a meeting at the counsel. If you’d not mind, summarize it for me.”

“Yes,” He completed his notes, then switched a couple of dials that turned the machines back to their base setting without turning it off completely. The subject below them heaved a breath before his assistant moved forward to assess her. His assistant was very quiet, efficient, and, importantly, knew what he expected of her. “Preliminary examinations thus far have had minimal returns, as you’re aware. However, it has given some indication that chakra may have been the cause of Haruno-san’s appearance here. Perhaps there was a natural flux of the world’s chakra, and that interacted with hers just at the wrong moment.

“What these initial tests are doing is isolating Haruno-san’s chakra and spiritual energy from the ambient energy in the room, and from itself. From there, we can start to apply various stressors, and from the reactions of the energy glean valuable information. Things like chakra type, or the limits of their pools are some of the easy ones, but this machine is able to pick up on the slightest deviation of her chakra pathways. It’s the hope that this will show the most recent major events,” His glasses flashed as he added in his mind, _like the Soulbond process._ “If there was chakra involved with her appearance here, as I believe there was, this machine could isolate it. If we can isolate it, we can see if we can possibly reverse it.”

The clone kept his eye on the subject as Kabuto’s assistant returned to her waiting spot, but nodded to him, “I see. Thank you, Yakushi-sensei.”

Kabuto reached over and pressed the intercom again, “Haruno-san, we are about to begin the next phase. Please relax your chakra as much as you can.” The subject nodded and then he could feel the way her chakra went from the minimal sensation most ninja adopted for everyday life, to a noticeable bump on his senses. Hm, smaller than he was expecting though. “Begin the session,” he said, and let go of the button before moving back to the instrument panel.

“Please do not interrupt when the machine is active, Uchiha-dono. An abrupt shutoff could cause permanent damage.” He said, not knowing how the man would react to these experiments; they were generally not for the faint of heart. He’d usually argue against having the Soulbonded in the observation chambers entirely, but the subject was a unique situation since she was a doppelgänger, and thus not a real Bond. The Uchiha behind the clone was a notoriously closed off person, even among his own relatives, so he probably valued higher the possibility to retrieve his wife than the subject below them. Kabuto knew he himself would burn the world to recover his own Bonded, were they replaced in a similar manner.

He adjusted a few knobs, felt a true smile tug on the corners of his lips from his excitement, then flicked the switch that directed the energy onto the subject.

Immediately below them, the subject jerked in reaction to the machines, though she was kept in place from her restraints. She tensed, and her brow furrowed, her jaw clenched instead of crying out. Good on her, screamers were such a bore, though he didn’t think she’d hold out for the entire examination. He started a slow count in his head, knowing that each session should be about thirty seconds for minimal detriment to the subject. One, two. He had to be careful not to overly harm her, the Hokage was very clear. Four, but there was always an argument as to what ‘overly’ meant.

He watched the main read out, turning various knobs and dials, looking for any deviation and playing to them. Fifteen, sixteen. He didn’t allow himself to turn the knobs too far from their initial settings, to keep a slow pace.

And thirty. He reached over and twisted the intensity dials, then flicked the switch back to the redirect mode. The subject relaxed, panted a bit, then looked in his direction—the Uchiha taking a step away from the edge to avoid detection. She shouted something at him ( _what the shit, Yakushi,_ he believed from her lip movements) but the room was somewhat soundproof and he couldn’t really understand her without the intercom. Well, she wasn’t one of the lucky ones it seems. Unfortunate for her, but unsurprising. This machine started its life in the T&I building, after all.

He went over the read out, annotating the deviations and the points where he had altered the stream. There was definitely something there! It was hidden, not immediately accessible, but he believed he could _absolutely_ isolate it with this process. He felt almost euphoric as he wrote up his observations in his notebook.

“Haruno-san,” He called, pressing the intercom.

“What the shit, Yakushi!” The subject interjected, interrupting whatever his assistant was saying to yell at him through the system.

“Sorry, sorry, but I have good news. There is a very promising correlation here in the data. It is buried, so will take a little to finesse out, but it’s doing what we hoped it would. Are you okay with continuing the session?” He stated aloud to the intercom, but mostly speaking to the clone.

Uchiha was looking into the chambers below again, positioned as far away from where Kabuto was as he could while still being in the same room. His expression was the Uchiha standard—stoic even to Kabuto, who was very good at picking up cues from people. His hands were clasped behind his back, his dress neat and formal. The Uchiha, such a pretentious family. 

“I’m fine,” She said, shifting her shoulders as much as she could in her restraints, “We can continue. I’d like to go home, and if this leads there, it’s worth it.”

The clone paused, then nodded once to Kabuto.

“Let my assistant know if that changes. Begin the next session.” He released the button, moving back to the control panel.

A number of sessions more he fiddled with the settings as the machines around him hummed, each time getting more and more enraptured over the results. He quickly grew frustrated over his self-imposed timed rule, as he had to walk back some progress each time as he put the machine on pause. He also had less and less notes to write each break, so they couldn’t end soon enough for him. The hour flew by, and Kabuto was ecstatic with what he had so far. 

The most recent one… it was so close, he could almost _taste_ it. This next one would be it, he _knew_ it.

He looked over the subject’s vitals, noting her elevated heart rate. It was to be expected, but the numbers were within specifications, so there was nothing to be too concerned about. He looked down into the chambers, where his assistant was wiping at the subject’s brow, who was panting on the table. No visible blood, no bruising, wasn’t showing any worrying signs... The clone also stood as he had before, face blank, so perfectly still he looked to be a statue, overlooking the room like a dark crow. He would continue. 

He adjusted the knobs prior to returning the system to rights, hoping to shave off some time. When he was done, he briefly pressed the intercom again, “Begin the next session,” to signal to his assistant to move away.

He flipped the redirect switch, and didn’t even pause as her well muffled screams started up again. Had it been the seventh or ninth round before she started screaming? One, two. Eh, it didn’t matter in the end. As long as there were results, it would be worth it. And the clone hadn’t reacted, so it was fine.

He turned the dials, eyes glued to the paper and the various lines and squiggles that were the results of his efforts. Five, six. He found the anomaly again, and he reached over to adjust the section to better isolate it. Eleven, twelve. It was being stubborn, shying away from the instruments, but he was well experienced with this machine. It practically purred under his hands, like a well contented cat.

Fifteen, sixteen. He quickly shuffled over to the section that controlled another part of the machine, adjusting and switching. The clone said his name, a question to the tone, but Kabuto couldn’t stop now. “Almost got it, Uchina-dono,” he said distractedly.

It was the frequency, he needed to adjust the frequency! Twenty-one. He turned a dial, and the muffled screams raised up a notch, matching the machine’s intensifying hum. Twenty five, the clone said something, but Kabuto hardly heard, he was _so close_. Twenty six, that was it, that was it, he just needed one last—

He never got to the knob he needed, because he suddenly found himself slammed against the main instrument cluster, with very, very angry hands closing around his neck.

“ _I said that’s enough!_ ” The clone snarled, eyes blazing red, his entire face curled with his fury. “Turn it off! Now!”

Kabuto stopped clawing at the appendages that were stopping both his airflow and inhibiting the blood to his head, reaching blindly for the intensity knobs and the redirect switch. It was sloppily done, probably damaging to the machinery, but he didn’t care about that at this moment.

Because his entire focus was on the second most powerful shinobi in the village, who he was absolutely certain would kill him if he didn’t turn it off _right now._

The machines all quickly ceased their humming, sadly sputtering and popping to a silence. There was a distressful hissing noise coming from somewhere directly behind him—he probably smashed an indicator when he was slammed into the delicate instruments—and he was unceremoniously dropped to the ground.

He took a grateful breath, then immediately started coughing, his head spinning from the blood rush as it was able to flow freely once again. He felt something wet trickle from the back of his head—probably cut from the impact.

“We are **done** here.” Uchiha declared darkly, a ringing finality to it. He turned, and left the room.

Kabuto coughed and heaved a bit more, placing a glowing green hand to his nearly crushed throat before staggering to his feet. He forced himself to go about the proper shut down of the device, to mitigate whatever damage he could to the precious machine. When he was done, the subject and the clone were gone from the room below, the straps carelessly cut open, taking with them his only chance to get answers about Soulmarks.

Balls.


	4. Tainted

She wanted to go home, she wanted to go home.

These were the words that Sakura consolidated herself with as she subjected herself to Kabuto’s tender care ( _Ha!_ ). She had fought against it, against _him_ , but the Yondaime stated that this Kabuto was not the same one hers was (double _Ha!_ ) and until he did something to warrant being removed from her case, he would remain as her main physician. He had never turned traitor, and was the Head technician at the laboratories, and was the best at solving mysteries of the body. In fact, here Orochimaru was dead, so it was impossible for the facts to align like in her world.

She still hated him, with his insincere smile.

He was, however, her ticket out of this… place. If not that, then at least some answers. Hate him she might, but he was a competent little fucker. He wouldn’t have gotten his position by anything other than skills. It was why he was Orochimaru’s right hand man in her world, after all.

So that’s how she allowed herself to be strapped down flat on her back, and was currently screaming in agony.

The initial exam had felt… odd. Not painful, but a weird sensation all down her chakra pathways, as if someone was physically touching them. She had sparred with Hinata a few times, and once memorably with Neji, and it was similar but not quite that. Rather than poking the chakra tenketsu, it had felt like something was covering them with a blanket.

This did not feel like that. This felt like someone was dragging a white hot knife through her, all at once, all over. Each time was worse, and worse, and felt like it was trying to pull something from her that didn’t want to leave.

The sensation lowered then stopped, and she gasped from the cessation of pain. She felt the mousy assistant wipe at her brow, checking the heightened thrum of her heart, as she had each pause, silent and almost uncaring in her task. Sakura’s eyes had fallen closed at some point, and she didn’t have the energy to open them. She panted, her breath heaving in her chest, so thankful that the pain had stopped. She thought she could have handled it, after the first session, the tenth, however many. She just kept repeating to herself; _she wanted to go home, she_ ** _needed_** _to go home._ However, home felt very far away when the knives were under her skin, carving deeply into her being. What number session was she on now? She didn’t know. She hoped it was over, that that one had been the last, and they found the key to take her home. The bastard would occasionally come on over the intercom to croon at her, detailing all the information that led him just out of reach of the answer, and then would ask her if she was able to go on. She hated him for giving her hope and reason to press on, to continue with this torture. 

“Begin the next session,” Far too soon came Kabuto’s voice from somewhere above her, staticky and filling her with dread.

No, no. She needed more time to recover, then she could go on. She tried to say this, but her mouth wasn’t responding as it should, her voice torn from her screaming, and the hands left her. No, please, come back. Wait.

Then the pain started back up, worse than before, it was always worse. Clawing under her skin, in her chakra, burning, yanking, _taking_. The sensation dialed up, getting so much _more_ , she felt like she would never be free of this pain, even as she died. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest, surely too fast. It went on, and on and—

Then, abruptly, the pain shuttered off.

She sagged into her bindings, sobbing with gratefulness. No more, no more. She was done, she’d rather stay here forever than continue this experiment. Her body felt numb from the cessation of pain, almost in shock from the lack of sensation.

Hands—the assistant? They seemed to be larger, warmer on her clammy skin—brushed along her face briefly, feeling oddly as if they were happening from a distance. She must have understood Sakura’s breathless babbles to stop, because she felt the straps being quickly removed. She needed to rest, to recover. They could find another way later, any other way, she just needed to recover now.

As she was being lifted it almost felt like she left a bit of herself behind, and a tiny whimper escaped before finally, belatedly, blackness took her.

**XXXXX**

It was the oddest experience Sakura has ever woken up to. She felt like she was not quite sitting right in her own skin, almost as if she was a boat that had lost all of its tethers but one. She was… lying on her back, in a bed. It was soft, warm, but felt weighted, holding her in position. It smelled different than her room in the laboratory. It smelled faintly of a softener that her parents sometimes used and she occasionally indulged in when she knew she’d not have any missions soon after—the smell tended to linger on her person. Her sense of smell came through clearly, unlike her sense of touch, which felt muffled, disconnected.

She moved her head to the side, but instantly regretted it, as it caused her to feel a strong motion sickness, and blackness started to creep back into her mind. She whimpered softly, hearing the sound more than feeling herself make it. What was _wrong_ with her?

“You’re awake.” A soft voice said, almost breathless. Well, not just _a_ voice. She knew it was Uchiha Itachi, because that’s what that strange sensation told her, bright and clear, located over her left shoulder. He was sitting watch at her sickbed.

She was saved from responding—frankly she didn’t feel like dealing with that right now, anyway—as she passed out again.

**XXXXX**

The second time she awoke, she felt better. Not perfect, but much better. Uchiha was no longer sitting at her bedside (as weird as that sounded) but somewhere a few meters away. Roughly in the direction where the raised voices were.

“—I don’t care! We are _done_ with his experiments. He can take his request and _choke on it._ ”

“Itachi, it is your decision, but I _had_ to ask. Sakura-chan was a major asset to Konoha; it is reasonable to try and find her.”

She cracked an eye, and her vision swam a bit before focusing. She was on a futon in a strange room, curled onto her side. The room was lit by a singular desk lamp, a warm, soft light, with either a sunset or sunrise peeking through the window. The sliding door was open, just a sliver, allowing the voices to enter the space easier. It was probably the only reason she heard the next phrase, as it was said much quieter, but still with a tinge of anger.

“I know where she is.”

There was a sigh, “You know what I meant.”

The next part of the conversation was too low to make out the details, or it maybe was her fading out of consciousness again, or both. Regardless, she came back with a sudden intake of breath to hear the tail end of, “—make arrangements.”

“We’ll just have to take things as they go, I suppose. I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.”

“Thank you,” came Uchiha’s voice. There was the sound of chairs scraping, as if they were standing from a sitting position.

Sakura shifted onto her back, slowly, still feeling the disconnected sensation, though it was lessened. Maybe two tethers for her boat analogy and not just the one. She didn’t pass out again, which was a marked improvement from the last time she tried to move, though it was far more exhausting than it should have been. She dragged her hands to her chest, one at a time, with a pause in between to muster the energy for the next step. She felt sore, almost, as if she had worked out every muscle in her body extensively—but didn’t have the lactic acid build up that caused the normal soreness.

She breathed out once more, then summoned her chakra to her hands.

And oh, _that_ hurt; like salt getting into a partially healed cut. It wasn’t the agony of before, but it was far from pleasant.

She gritted her teeth and pushed through, one hand over her heart and one over belly, two main chakra tenketsu. She wasn’t low on chakra, but she had to stop not too long after starting, panting from the effort. Even with her flawless control, that had been a struggle to accomplish. 

“I am glad to see you’re awake again. Have you learned anything?” Uchiha asked, his voice calm and collected, sitting just outside of the room. She had sensed him approach even before she used her chakra, and she looked at him now as she took a break to regain her breath.

He was once again dressed traditionally, an open black haori over a navy kimono with a pale blue kimono under, with dark grey hakama. She looked at his loose and relaxed shoulders a moment, then two, before risking it and dragging her eyes to his face. His hair was tied neatly back into a ponytail, a few strands left to hang neatly against his cheeks. His eyes were comfortingly black, and his features were politely curious in that typical micro-expressions she had learned from being teammates with Sasuke. Though she also knew from Sasuke that his eyes could very quickly turn red, too. 

Sakura looked away, closing her eyes and facing the ceiling, feeling awkward but trying to hide it. She had a few discussions about and around this man since coming here, and not just about the lack of family murdering. She had spent a while thinking about what Nara had said, and being constantly faced with the differences of this world made her face the facts that this man was not the mass murderer responsible for so much of her teams’ suffering. She understood intellectually that he was not who she grew up fearing and hating, but her emotions were still not quite sure (the same had been said to her about Kabuto, and look how that turned out). 

Even regardless of that, she didn’t know what to do about him. He was supposed to be her ‘soulmate,’ which fact she had a hard time accepting due to the absurdity, but how did that work from his end—one who knew about this whole soulmate process? She knew that the one she had replaced had been married to the man. Certainly that emotion didn’t carry over to her… did it? Was she expected to fulfill that gap? How could that be, when he had lost his wife and she, a complete stranger, dared to wear her appearance?

She did know that he, as a member of this Konoha, was her sponsor ( _and jail-keeper,_ a bitter part of her chimed in) and she should be grateful for that as it gave her protections from both other villages, and Konoha itself. Medic-nin were rare, and valuable to all nations… and non-nations, like Akatsuki. Tsunade had told her stories sometimes, during her training, about the various times she had to ‘decline’ to join some group, and the fights that would sometimes arise from that. It was a credit to Tsunade’s strength as a kunoichi that she lasted as long as she did on her own.

She was grateful for that protection, but was currently more grateful that he had the foresight to wait outside of the room instead of sitting next to her sickbed as if he belonged there. She didn’t fear him anymore, but man, was it unnerving.

“My chakra... pathways…” she panted in answer, “They’re… loose.”

He paused, then asked in a perfectly reasonable voice, “Is that something that can be fixed?”

She cracked an eye and looked back at him. He was still sitting outside the room, shoulders loose, hands clasped in his lap, just the hint of curiosity in the set of his mouth... and yet the hair raised on the back of her neck for some reason. “Yes,” she said, wondering what would have happened if she had said no, “Time, some mending... maybe a bit of... meditation.”

He nodded, once, then motioned to the tray that was sitting before him. “I have brought you something to eat. Are you hungry?”

She thought about it. She didn’t feel hungry, but knew she needed food to help her recovery. She didn’t know what time it was, or if it was even the same day. It was dark out now, she could tell from the window, which was at least a dozen hours different from the dreadful morning experiment. She hadn’t eaten since the night before her last experiment, as it had been recommended to proceed on an empty stomach. “I could eat,” she responded.

“Do you need assistance sitting up?”

She wished she didn’t, but she wasn’t like her genin teammates, who would have sooner chewed their own limbs off than accept help voluntarily. “Yes,” she said, then continued to match his politeness. “Thank you.”

Sakura intended to keep her cool, collected calm—this didn’t bother her no, not at all, being vulnerably flat on her back before a man she grew up thinking would happily murder her to death, but now was apparently her soulmate—but that calm was quickly shattered as she was pulled to sit upright. She gasped, clenching her eyes, recoiling from the shock of the _sensation_ of being moved; not exactly painful, not exactly pleasant, but made every inch of her break out in sharp pins and needles. Her hand moved instinctively and gripped something, tugging as if to alleviate some of the sensation, and when she was pressed against the wall and opened her eyes again, she realized it was his haori lapel.

She tried to suppress her blush, suddenly thankful for the pain that had certainly made her face paler. She let go of his lapel with forced casualness, and was imminently grateful he didn’t say anything about it.

She was able to sit upright without assistance other than the wall, and the position (or maybe it was the movement) helped wake her up from her strange lethargy. The bowls were blessedly light enough for her to handle on her own, so she didn’t have to suffer the indignity of being hand fed by him. She had served as an aftercare nurse many times for enemies, for strangers, and for friends, she knew that it was sometimes required, but it still was exceedingly uncomfortable to have _Uchiha Itachi_ acting in that role for her. 

“Where am I?” She eventually asked, in between mouthfuls. The food was wisely liquid, and miso currently bloomed onto her taste buds. It was surprisingly good, despite her lack of appetite.

“You are in a guest room in my home,” He answered, confirming her suspicions.

She chewed a bit of soft tofu and forced herself to swallow her mouthful. “Why am I no longer in the Hanakama building?”

“The experiments have failed,” He said, voice quiet but firm as he swapped one small bowl for another, handing it to her higher to let her lift the least distance. “As such, there is no reason for you to remain there.” She nodded, finding herself not at all disagreeing with his certainty. She’d rather never see the inside of that building again. Kabuto could go fuck himself. “Unfortunately, due to your… circumstances, you’re still under my care. This room is yours until such circumstances change.”

“Alright,” she confirmed, suddenly feeling much more tired. She let her bowl rest in her hands, too exhausted to continue to eat. She decided not to be the antagonist and ask the obvious, _when will she ever_ ** _not_** _be a stranger to this world?_ She cleared her throat, “I’d like to sleep now.”

Uchiha nodded, then took the bowl from her lax hands, neatly placing it back with the others on the tray. 

He helped her lay back down, and she was out before she even completely settled.

**XXXXX**

Over the next few days, she recovered by leaps and bounds. As her self-diagnosis showed, a bit of meditation had realigned her pathways back to their correct locations, and the occasional chakra focusing technique helped cement them back in place. As much as physical exercise was a part of chakra and a ninja way of life, so was the spiritual side of the equation and sometimes that side was the best response. She didn’t know how that machine had managed to dislodge her pathways, whether it was a direct or indirect cause, but she never wanted to experience it again.

The first day she was able to walk on her own, Uchiha had given her a brief tour of the house and grounds. It was a very lovely home, double storied and well lit on the interior with light colored walls, modern kitchen, spacious but not overly so with a vegetable garden attached in the backyard. The damage she had caused busting out of the rear door had been repaired, and she apologized for it, though Uchiha had waved it off.

They had limited conversations, though one of them had pertained to her delicate situation in Konoha. She was still a guest, not a prisoner (he assured her) and so could traverse the village freely. She wasn’t on duty rotation as a ninja, but apparently Uchiha Sakura hadn’t been either, which surprised her (being a kunoichi was one of her proudest accomplishments, how could she give that up so quickly?). The woman had apparently spent a majority of her time working with clan business, being a housewife, and had occasionally been called in for service in the hospital for her abilities as a Slug Sage, and _that_ had been the most surprising. How did the woman manage that, when Sakura—who was contracted with the Slugs, and trained under the Sannin Tsunade far more extensively—had not? It made her feel… mediocre, if she was being honest. Haruno Sakura was just a chuunin, after all, and in the same time Uchiha Sakura had made herself a _legend_.

 _Always left behind, even by myself_ , her inner voice sighed wearily.

She was walking through the village now, heading towards the training grounds. Uchiha had left earlier in the day, citing some meetings, and she sensed him where she knew the Hokage tower to be. She still felt decidedly awkward in the home, even without him there, so gave in to her restlessness and made her way to finally get a good workout.

While in the Hanakama building, she had tried to maintain her exercise routine. She was given an hour break in the mornings after breakfast was delivered to do whatever she’d like in the yard next to the building, but the space limitations prevented her from doing a full routine and so she was limited to mostly katas and stretches.

She made her way to the sign in post, where people reserved the various training grounds. She hummed, seeing a couple reserved under the Uchiha clan, which was different from her own world for obvious reasons. She knew that technically from her conversations with Nara, as soulbonded to a Uchiha, she could reserve under the name, but that made her feel very uncomfortable. She was not his wife, and thus was not going to use Uchiha grounds as if she was. Thankfully however, her favorite training ground number 16 was not one of those, and it was free. _High damage_ , it read as the description.

She booked it for a block of time, then lightly jogged to the grounds as a warm up. She felt something settle in her as she walked into the fenced enclosure, where the earth was broken and there were trees lying about as if scattered by giants. The grounds routinely were destroyed and rebuilt, so it didn’t even have any physical points tied to her memories that could be dispelled. Here, she could pretend, just a little, that she was home.

She first did some light stretches, working out the kinks of her convalescence. She then smoothly transitioned into her routine, honed through years of training. She smoothly traveled from one end of the clearing to the other, feeling her chakra flow through her at key points, but avoiding actually using any. Not yet.

She worked through her routine twice without chakra, going from backflips to high kicks to handstands. She made this routine to work out each muscle group, to ensure each were in proper order and she was able to use them if she needed them in the field. She used this every time she trained alone—which was most of the time. Tsunade had nearly always been busy with Hokage duties, Shizune preferred to work out in the afternoons and not in the morning as Sakura did, and Ino kept to the T&I building and their group training after Sakura stopped her rotations there. Then of course her various genin and chuunin teams’ schedules never seemed to align with her hospital or work schedule… She trained a lot alone.

She did another backflip, but this time adding her chakra to her legs. A boulder the size of a cart followed her foot, and she flung it to the far end of the training field, where it landed and rolled with a crash, smashing into a larger one. She stomped another boulder from the ground and then launched that one high into the air with a high side kick. She did a handstand, but first attached a tree to her feet, adding the massive, discombobulating weight to the difficulty of her balance.

Feeling the burn now, she did her routine again, going a step up in size for her components.

“Wow, bravo,” a voice said in aw.

Sakura faltered, the tree nearly toppling her over, and she cursed herself for losing focus on her surroundings enough to not sense the presence of another. She looked over and a bright red haired older woman was sitting on one of the massive upturned roots, clapping as if enjoying the show. She was dressed simply, a set of blue coveralls, cream colored undershirt, and a bright blue clip holding her absurdly long hair back from her face.

She huffed, kicking the tree free to land beside her with a low bass thud. She righted herself up and put her hands on her hip, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’ve reserved the grounds for the next,” she looked up to where the sun was, “fifteen minutes. You’ll have to wait until I’ve left before you can begin your training session.”

“Well, as I’m here to see you, that kind of defeats the purpose.” She grinned, then jumped down from the fallen tree. The nimble way she landed proved she was a ninja, in a way that her civilian styled clothing did not.

“You are?” Sakura dropped her hands, rocking back to her heels in surprise and sudden caution. “Who are you?

“I’m Namikaze Kushina,” she chirped happily, coming to a stop within a reasonable distance to her. “I’m what’s called an _Ombudsman_ here in Konoha.”

“An ohms-what?” She stumbled over pronouncing the foreign sounding word. She also blushed a bit as she realized that she was talking to the Hokage’s wife, not just a random kunoichi.

“ _Ombudsman_ ,” she repeated, her grey eyes warm and friendly, “Basically, a go between Konoha’s leadership and her people, as well as guests or visitors. Kind of like an Ambassador, but within Konoha herself.”

“Okay, um,” she began, then stopped. “Why are you here again?”

“Well, you’re a guest of Konoha, and my husband Minato spoke to me about you. You’re a very unique position, a stranger and yet not, so you probably are feeling alone, isolated, and lost.” Sakura jerked back at the far too apt description. “People that you know don’t know you, and people know you who you don’t know. So! I’m here to help with that.” She raised a finger cheerfully, “I’m an empath, but importantly, I had only minimal interactions with Uchiha Sakura, so I don’t really have a preexisting opinion of _who_ you supposedly are. From your greeting, I’m certain you have no idea who I am, so it works out as if we’ve just met. You can come to me as you adjust to Konoha and we can talk, or shop, or whatever, whenever I’m free. And as a bonus, if you have an issue, I can try my best to resolve it, or help in any way I can.”

Sakura closed her mouth when she realized it was hanging open. That was a lot of information to take in at once. And did she say _empath_? “Wait, the Hokage sent you to be… my _friend_?”

“Hm,” the woman, Kushina, tapped her chin as she apparently considered the question, “Basically, yes.” She grinned widely again.

Sakura smacked her palm into her forehead. She had no idea how to react to the idea that the Hokage had set up (hired?) a _playdate_ for her. She supposed this woman—who she wasn’t even certain existed in her world (she didn’t think the Yondaime was married before he died, as none of the records indicated he was)—would be a lot better than getting rebuffed by someone she was close with, like what happened with Shikamaru.

“Want to go get something to eat?” The woman blithely asked.

She sighed. “Let me cool down first.”

**XXXXX**

So that is how Sakura found herself laughing with the wife of the Hokage in a restaurant booth. She had been cautious at first, but the woman was bright and friendly, and very, very energetic. She reminded her of a better behaved Naruto, and she quickly found the initial shyness evaporating and they talked like they had been friends for years. What really got her though, was one day the redhead had leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “As much as the village and her husband miss her, I always thought Uchiha Sakura a bit spoiled and stuck up; I’m quite glad you have a sense of humor,” which made Sakura noticeably happier.

Because, as the weeks rolled by, she was faced more and more with how supposedly _perfect_ Uchiha Sakura had been. She had been a Sage for one, and had the Seal of a Hundred for another. She had been married to the infamously powerful Uchiha Itachi for years, and was already fitting into the Uchiha clan as the next matron. Everyone she met who knew her expressed distress and shock when they realized that, yes, the rumors were true, she was not _her_ , and it had been an unfortunate, terrible set of circumstances that brought her here.

It hadn’t gotten any less awkward with Uchiha, either, though they’d settled into a cautious, almost roommate like situation (unlike Kabuto, he never had that sense of insincerity about him—more the opposite, which was weird in its own right). She’d still occasionally catch him watching her if they were in the same room for long enough, and she knew he wasn’t looking at _her_ , but who she _should_ be. Made her spine stiffen.

“And then the look on their _faces_.” Kushina laughed, tears rolling down. “They couldn’t say anything or they’d lose face, but oh, Minato has wisely never assigned that particular genin team a mission in the land of Lightning.”

“Oh my god, I can just see that.” She laughed with her. The Lightning dignitaries had been just as stuffy in her world.

Kushina hummed and took a bite of her ramen, chewing and swallowing before asking, “But enough of that, how are you doing? It has been a bit.” The first time in a little less than two weeks, not that Sakura was counting. 

“I wanted to talk to you, actually.” She cleared her throat from her laughter, though that laughter did help her casually say, “I’d like to try working again.”

“Eh? On active duty rotation?” She slurped her noodles appreciatively. They weren’t at Ichiraku—Sakura had been careful to avoid going there—but this place specialized in spicy ramen and Sakura found she really enjoyed them, though she was not the spice fiend that Kushina was.

“No,” She said. It would be difficult to go into the field with shinobi that didn’t trust her, and she still had little doubt about her place here. “Back to the hospital. I am, or _was_ I guess, a bit of a work-a-holic. I rarely had free-time, let alone weeks of just doing _nothing_. I’m going a bit stir crazy here. I’m a medic, a good one, and I know I can help there.” And would give her something to feel accomplished with again, something that few had the abilities to do.

“Hmm,” Kushina leaned back and looked at her, with one of those random deep assessments she did. Sakura tried not to shift uncomfortably from the look. She suddenly grinned, and Sakura felt the knot of tension in her release. “I think the only issue would be the accounting office, but they don’t like paying anyone.” She winked, taking a big swig of her drink, “I’m certain we can get you added to the rosters easily enough, then it should be no big deal to put you into the Hospital rotation.”

Sakura felt herself perk up from the news. She had spent the time since leaving the Hanakama building catching up on her studying in the library and reading the history of this place, and some details had been fascinatingly different—like her world Godaime Mizukage was the this world's head assistant to the Yondaime Mizukage, instead of her killing and replacing him after a civil war in Mist. Strange, and she didn’t understand _why_ that would have been so different here. She was also practicing her elemental chakra control, and jutsu work like she had never been able to when she had chuunin and medical duties. But she could only do that for so long, to hide away from this strange world. Further, while Uchiha had said she could buy whatever she’d like, it would be nice to have her own cash and not feel like an interloper every time she wanted to get a snack from the vending machine, or get an article of clothing that was not from _her_ closet. She was reasonably certain the clothing had been, anyway, they were almost exclusively traditional styled and apparently the Uchiha clan here (particularly the head family) wore that. They also were not new, were exactly her size, and had small Uchiwa emblems on the back. It was bad enough that she looked like the other woman, she didn’t want to wear her clothes too. And she missed her red vest, and her medic-nin apron that had been gifted by Tsunade when she had finally earned the title of doctor.

“So, what are you going to do in the hospital? Is there something you specialize in?” Kushina asked, neatly steering Sakura’s downward spiraling thoughts back to things more pleasant.

She smiled genuinely, and said, “I’m a trauma spec—”

“Oka-san!” A loud, obnoxious, _familiar_ voice broke into her conversation.

Naruto, clad in a blindingly orange and black outfit, swept into the space like a storm. He had already spotted the pair when he called out, and now bum rushed them in a joyful clatter. He swept Kushina into his arms with a joyful cry, his face and outfit dirty—probably newly returned from a mission. His hair was longer than she remembered, almost brushing his shoulders.

“Naruto!” Kushina chided, even as she hugged him back, “You know not to interrupt me when I’m working.”

Sakura didn’t feel the sting about being reminded that she was a job.

“Chatting with an old biddy is hardly working, Oka-san.”

She didn’t feel anger over being mistaken for old.

“Na _ru_ to—”

“Wha—Oh, ah, sorry, Sakura-chan! I, uh, didn’t realize it was you, hehe… um, how’ve you been?” He asked, having finally looked at her, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment as he recognized her not being elderly, despite her conservative dress.

Sakura didn’t feel pain at the familiar term, which she hadn’t heard in years. 

No, she was in too much shock to feel much at all.

Naruto was here. Kushina was his _mother_. Kushina was married to the Hokage, and _how did she never make the connection before he looked just like him!_ The hair, the eyes were pure Yondaime, and she had just been thinking that Kushina was a match for him in personality.

Only... this was not _her_ Naruto—this one had clear, blemish free cheeks where his whiskers had always been. Her eyes tracked between the two of them.

She had the terrible, dawning comprehension as to what that all meant.

Kushina recognized something was more wrong than typical when someone recognized Sakura, and kissed her son— _her son_ —on the cheek before shooing him away firmly. Sakura dropped her gaze, feeling her gut clench as Naruto hesitantly said, “Love you” to the woman before departing. He had been so alone growing up, hated by all the adults, hated by most of the children. She understood a lot more about her teammate as an adult than she ever had as a child, and in hindsight knew he was so, so desperate for love and belonging as he grew up. He had been the _Yondaime’s_ son, all this time.

“Sakura, it’s alright.” Kushina soothed, unknowing of the cause of Sakura’s shock and distress. “I’m sorry, I know you had Naruto as a teammate and having him not recognize you must hurt.”

She opened her mouth to object, but snapped it closed. She should go with that, she didn’t need to tell her the truth of the matter. 

Kushina frowned, however, tilting her head in a decidedly fox-like gesture. She must have recognized something was off because she asked, a little more pointedly, “Sakura, what’s wrong?”

She frowned unhappily back, looking at the woman who had become her friend even if it was just a job. It wasn’t like this would affect this world any, as it clearly hadn’t come to pass here. Kushina had been nothing but helpful to Sakura since they met. She deserved honesty. “Naruto… I’m sorry Kushina, but I didn’t know.”

The redhead’s back straightened up, her gray eyes contracting at the possibility that her son was in some sort of trouble. “Sakura, tell me.”

“The Yondaime died in my timeline,” she swallowed, and Kushina nodded, confusion still in her eyes.

“From fighting the Kyuubi?” She looked away, too casual to be real, “Yes, that was in the briefing.”

She meant the briefing Sakura had given to Nara, those first few days she was here. But there had been so much information, so many details about the _other_ villages, their strengths, their threats, their connections and faults. They had spent an entire day on Sand alone after it had been discovered that they had attacked Konoha with Sound (having not done it here, apparently). She hadn’t even thought about, hadn’t been _asked_ about, the details of _how_ the Yondaime had died, and what happened to the Kyuubi after. That fact in hindsight was now glaring in it’s omission. Why she hadn’t been asked was sitting in front of her.

“Not… not directly.” Sakura had been privy to a lot more information than the counsel was aware of, a handful of pieces she gathered from various documents. She read from a Stone report about the jinchuuriki in history that there had been two previous vessels to the demon fox, though the report didn’t know who the third was ( _she_ did, though. How could she not have realized before what that strange red chakra had been?). From another, it hadn’t been a report on the jinchuuriki at all, but a report as to the death of the Yondaime—a sacrificial death to _seal_ (not kill, as she had been taught in school) the Kyuubi, which was not-so-coincidentally Naruto’s birthday. The last was a report about a kidnapping back when the Sandaime was in his first tour as Hokage, long before she or Naruto were born, she knew that the container immediately preceding Naruto had the name _Uzumaki, K._ She made the obvious conclusion that they were related, probably his mother. She had cried for a week for her friend and his unknown sacrifice. She had never made the connection to Kushina until now.

She cleared her throat. “The Yondaime died… _sealing_ the Kyuubi… into Naruto. Its previous container had died, most likely from childbirth.”

“But… what?” The redhead whispered, clearly shocked. “I…”

Sakura grimaced, trying to be delicate, “Naruto grew up an orphan. He never knew his parents, never knew _who_ his parents even were. There was—is—a law in place that prevented people from talking about the Kyuubi at all, and he didn’t even know he was the container for a long time.” She took a breath, then added, “It… it wasn’t an easy life for him, and I think the villagers blamed him for the death of their beloved Hokage since he was the container for the Kyuubi after the attack.”

Kushina stared at her, face slack, for an uncomfortable amount of time. She then took a sudden breath and said merely, “Excuse me.”

Then she left.

Sakura felt a little sick, like she had tainted this happy world a bit with her terrible truths. She managed to ruin things, again. Of course she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am fully aware that Kushina did not die because of childbirth. However, Sakura does not know that. She conjectured and guessed from a scattering of reports.
> 
> This fact, of either lack of or misunderstanding of certain things, will come up again, but will not be pointed out in notes.


	5. Establishment

Sakura was back at her training field, slowly demolishing a gargantuan tree. It wasn’t for any specific training need, but to work out her frustration.

She had been granted permission to work at the hospital, and had been there for over three weeks now. She was assigned four 12 hour shifts a week, which was lighter than her schedule back in her Konoha, but within reason to be considered a full time job. As Kushina had left in a rush, and was obviously very upset when she had, she hadn’t thought that the woman would have remembered her request.

And as such, she had only herself to blame for having to deal with the absolutely obnoxious imbecile who was in charge of the hospital. Dr. Yarori Kentsu, current bane of her life.

She had never met the old man in her world, but she could solidly see Tsunade punting the bastard across the village within an hour of meeting him. He was rude, he was demeaning, he was sexist, and he felt that medic-nin and their “magic-chakra” (his exact phrase) were no better than trick ponies, good for little more than changing bedpans, checking temperatures and patching genin who had been careless with a kunai, letting the ‘real’ doctors run the show.

He refused to even acknowledge that Sakura was actually a doctor, calling her ‘chan’ demeaningly instead of ‘sensei’ as appropriate. It wasn’t a title she was just _gifted_ from her apprenticeship under Tsunade, she had gone through the rigorous testing and certification requirements to _earn_ the title. The fact she was a shinobi apparently completely negated all of that, and the fact she wasn’t a legendary Slug Sage made her “nearly useless” (his exact words). Only the thought of the constant location identifier Uchiha had on her had prevented her from murdering him to death and going missing-nin.

As such, she hadn’t been in a single surgery, operation, or emergency response team since she was assigned duties there, stuck doing menial labor and intake screenings like she was a damned _intern_. She was very frustrated over it, and had no one to complain to who would understand her feelings. Tsunade wasn’t here to help correct the issue, Shizune wasn’t here to sympathize with her complaints over the biases of civilian doctors, Kushina was still avoiding her from the revelation about Naruto (not that Sakura felt comfortable to reach back to _Naruto’s mother_ ), and Ino wasn’t here join her at the club to relieve stress and bitch with about sexism in the workforce. She knew she shouldn’t be ungrateful for the position—none of her certifications existed in this world, she was lucky she was in the hospital at all, and that’s besides the fact she was getting paid the standard salary of a chuunin and not the entry level per-hour schedule of an unskilled worker. She had a roof over her head, food to eat, she was relatively free to move about barring actually leaving the village, and she was treated well. She hardly had room to complain. And yet...

“Shannaro!” She yelled, punching the thickest part of the tree. It exploded under her touch with a loud _crack_ , splitting the huge chunk off the remaining trunk where it landed with a crash a dozen feet away. Hm, the edge was a bit more jagged than she was trying for. She huffed, rolling her shoulders back and popping her neck. She took another breath and began to pull her gloves off, not winded from her exercise, but calming down from her anger.

She moved from the tree to where she had put her towel, taking it to wipe at her face casually as she asked, “What can I help you with, Uchiha-san?”

She had sensed him right along the edges of her training field for a little while. She had, over the last week or so, felt him occasionally at the little restaurant near the hospital, which was outside of the area where he normally went. She had been bogged down with numbskull clients and ridiculous paperwork each time, so she had never checked it out, but his presence now indicated that maybe she should have. Well, she hmphed to herself, he should have sent her a note if he wanted to meet.

He was polite and let her finish her training regime without interruption, sitting casually and unobtrusively in the shade of a splintered rock. She looked at him as he smoothly rose and approached. He was not wearing his Uchiha kimono, instead a simple black ensemble meant for ease of movement. It fit his lithe form, showing off narrow hips and well defined shoulders that were relaxed with his mood. His hair was tied back in his typical low ponytail, a few strands loose to frame his face.

 _Man, he was handsome,_ popped in her head abruptly. She was suddenly thankful for her flushed face from her work out as she bent to grab her water bottle.

He stopped close enough for easy communication but far enough away that it didn’t make her uncomfortable; he was remarkably good at that estimation. The fishnet at his collar and cuffs allowed her to see a necklace, and she blinked when she realized she recognized it. It was on one of the Bingo book updates a few years back. It was a picture that had managed to get Uchiha Itachi with his Akatsuki cloak open, showing off his face when he was about nineteen, but also showed that necklace. It had been updated since, trying to maintain its relevance, and the subsequent photo had his neckline covered. Huh, she wondered what it meant for him to have it in both worlds.

“I would like to train with you,” He said simply, pulling her thoughts away from their woolgathering.

Sakura blinked, not expecting that at all. Which was stupid on her part, considering he showed up in her training ground in workout gear. “Uh, what?” She added unhelpfully.

He repeated clearly, “I would like to train with you.”

She rocked back on her heels, feeling her spine stiffen and a frown tugging at her lips as her defenses rose up. Was he honestly trying for that cliche ‘let’s train together’ bit that almost all shinobi did to kunoichi? They were roommates, and Sakura liked that just fine, they could continue just like that. Better to nip this in the bud directly, she thought as she crossed her arms. “I don’t know what you’d want to accomplish with this. I am well aware of my skills, and know that I am significantly outclassed by yours, so it’s not to your own benefit for training, and I know that you are aware of that as well. I am not your wife, Uchiha-san. Why are you here? You must have some ulterior motive.” She accused bluntly, voice firm.

He dropped his gaze to look at her crossed arms, then to the training grounds where she was so recently demolishing a tree that was wider than she was tall.

“You are right,” he admitted, surprising her. She thought he would have deflected her point. “Though I think it would be a unique experience to spar with you, you shouldn’t speak of yourself poorly.

“But I do have some ulterior motives than just sparring.” His lips pinched just a bit, and he still wasn’t looking at her. That was odd; Uchiha, she found, always tended to look at things dead on, even when it may be considered rude by normal society—probably a by-product of their bloodline. She cocked her head a bit, looking more closely at his minute body language, which she only had experience reading because of her school-girl crush on his brother all those years ago. Was he… was he _embarrassed_?

She was distracted from her realization as he cleared his throat, and took a breath before continuing, “I know this world is foreign to you, and before coming here you had never experienced Soulmates, never seen them outside of stories. But here… It’s just a fact of life. You _will_ have a Soulmate, you _will_ find that Soulmate, and you _will_ be together. It is fated, Marked into our very skin when we come of age.”

She shifted, now embarrassed herself, even if this was far from the first time she heard of it. In a theoretical sense, it’d have been something she and Ino cooed over, gossiping about how romantic it all was. It was much different in reality.

He dropped his head, and his voice quieted, just a little, “I love my wife very much, and I miss her terribly.” He finally looked back at her, and her heart thumped at the sudden intensity of his black gaze, locked with her own, “However, I feel that there was a reason you were brought here, a reason that you were tied to me with a Mark. I am not expecting a love like I had, but I would… I would like to at least get to know you more. As a friend, if nothing else. Training together is a neutral way to start this.”

If Sakura’s past self, the silly little girl who thought she was in love with Sasuke because he was the cutest boy in class and got good grades, had been told that a certain tall dark and handsome Uchiha would one day want to spend time with her, she’d have been _ecstatic_. Never mind it was Sasuke’s older brother, that’d have just made it more alluring to her mind that a ‘big kid’ noticed her.

However, time changes people. She was twenty one years old, she wasn’t that naive little girl anymore. She believed in hard work and effort over a fairytale of a cute boy sweeping her off her feet. And he was _married_.

She worried about what accepting would bring, the same worry that had her keep her interactions with him as brief as she had. She understood that he missed his wife, how could he not? And whether he said it or not, she knew she was just a knock off version of her. Weaker, more emotional, more skittish, less refined and ill fitting to the world. He was probably just desperate for what he could get, an imitation of his perfect wife when the real one was absent. She wanted to deny him on that fact alone; she was overshadowed enough by her teammates, she didn’t want to also be overshadowed by herself.

At the same time, she really _didn’t_ appreciate the realities of a soulbond like those here. It was so pervasive that it altered the course of Konoha’s history. Wars that had been fought were avoided, treaties were put into place to prevent conflict of bonded across borders, it was in every story, every legend she had come across. Mythic tales of enemies into lovers, of binding clans together, of bonds serving a specific need that nothing else could.

It was hard to deny the stories, even to herself, when she felt that bond right in front of her as certainly as she could see him with her eyes. If she had it, didn’t that mean _something_?

“If nothing else, this would end in a net benefit to you. I was an ANBU Captain, and a jounin sensei; I have extensive training experience. Regardless of anything else, this would only help refine your own skills.” He added, when she didn’t immediately reject him.

And that… that just broke her heart, that he felt he had to _bribe_ her to spend time with him. She remembered, quite clearly, what it felt like to be on the other side of that.

“Alright,” she sighed and dropped her hands to put them on her hips, watching as he—for a Uchiha—perked up. “But, let’s start this off right.” She stuck her hand out, “Hello, my name is Haruno Sakura. I like umeboshi, my fighting style is close range, and I specialize in medical jutsu.”

He smiled, a real smile that started from his eyes and made him far too attractive, damn him. He carefully took her hand and shook it, surprisingly soft, “Uchiha Itachi. I like dango, I am a medium distance fighter, and I specialize in genjutsu.”

She would just have to watch herself (and him) to ensure that they stayed proper. He was married, and they had no idea if—or when—she would leave and have his actual wife take back her rightful place. She owed her other self that much at least.

**XXXXX**

Minato watched the doppelgänger as she walked through the village. It was a weekend, and the marketplace she traversed was bustling with life. It made his heart content to see it; all the civilians who kept the village supplied and moving, the shinobi and kunoichi who kept it protected and its main source of income, the children who were it’s soul and future, each living their lives happily and healthily.

The Yondaime had been kept abreast of Haruno as the time went on. The mess that came from the Hanakama building and the failed experiments. The grumpy disposition of Dr. Yarori as he was “forced” to accept the help of Haruno, even though her pay was coming out of the Uchiha coffers and not the hospital’s budget (Frankly, he’d have preferred to have her added to the active duty rosters, but didn’t want to fight both Itachi _and_ his parents, the current Heads of the Uchiha clan, about putting such an important figure into active danger. Clan politics were the _worst_ ). 

Further, the mass of differences and mass of similarities to their world that would keep the scholars quite happy studying for decades to come, but nothing had really come out of that they didn’t already know, or that actually pertained to their world. There were still things to learn that didn’t pertain to his village, like what had happened to his son in the other world. Kushina had been nearly inconsolable for days, and Naruto—having been newly returned off a mission—took the brunt of her affection. He had only lasted two days before coming to him somewhat desperately in the dead of night to request another out-of-Konoha mission. Minato guiltily denied him; it was bad enough to feel her emotions when their son was relatively within arms reach, let alone if he snuck out of the village entirely. He also was glad to have his son nearby.

It had been almost two months since then, and Kushina had recovered from her distress. She went about her self assigned duties of Ombudsman of the village, helping her people as she could. Haruno did not reach back to schedule another session, and Kushina had not pressed her to. He knew his wife, and knew she wanted to distance herself from _that_ world and it’s harsh realities, and Haruno—unfortunately—would remind her just by being who she was. 

Minato, however, had kept thinking about the revelation.

The Haruno he was tailing was now visibly different from the Sakura he knew. Sakura was the proper Uchiha wife, having been groomed for the position from a young age, and always dressing conservative and traditional as the head family trappings dictated. Haruno had initially followed, but she had since purchased much more kunoichi-esque gear to wear instead. She wore a bright red sleeveless top, which he noticed did not bear the Uchiwa; instead a plain white circle occupied the space. The shirt was tucked into black shorts covered by a cream colored medic-nin apron that fell to just above the bottoms of the shorts. She also had a kunai holster on her thigh, and a medic-nin tool belt, with tall ninja sandals covering her shins. All she was missing was a Haitai-ate, but as she wasn’t on the active duty roster, it was appropriate that it was missing.

Itachi had briefly spoken with him about her abilities; she was an overall better kunoichi than Sakura had been, with flatly _amazing_ chakra control, and having already mastered two element chakra. However, she was significantly slower and had less attack based moves, nearly always defaulting to dodging. She made up for it by her viciousness when it came to sparring—she didn’t shy away from causing damage, as she would inevitably heal it after. But there was an oddity… she said she was trained by Tsuande, and it was evident by her brutal jutsu style, but her training regime seemed mostly self-made and not one of the generations developed clan routines, like the Senju routine that even the drunkard Tsunade would have used. While Minato could understand that she had no interactions with the Itachi in her world, and thus was not trained by him, he didn’t understand why _Kakashi_ would have let her abilities flounder as well, as he had been her jounin sensei. 

Itachi had paused at this question, his lips twisting in confusion and a little pity before he continued, “She told me that he was too busy, so she would just work out on her own. Both as a genin, and then as a chuunin.”

The Kakashi that Minato had trained was a hard driving teacher, dedicating himself to the betterment of those put under his care. After the near death of Obito, he had gotten a wake up call about his standoffish ways, and instead dedicated not insignificant time to his teammates as a jounin, as an ANBU, and then as a jounin sensei. The latter he was so successful at, he was one of the few jounin that had had more than one genin team under their belt.

He supposed it made more sense that the Kakashi of that world was a notably different person, since he also had abandoned his son.

“Haruno-san,” He called, approaching her as she was leaving the marketplace, a box of stuffed buns in her hands.

“Ah! Hokage-sama,” she bowed in greeting, stopping, and he dipped his head back as he approached. “It has been a while.”

“Ah yes, sorry about that, being a Hokage is a bit time consuming.” He smiled and stepped up to her.

She laughed, a friendly sound, “Don’t I know it. Tsunade-shishou was constantly swamped with meetings and reports. I was occasionally tasked with helping her in addition to my other duties.”

“Guess somethings will never change.” He kept to himself that he knew her other duties were being both a doctor at the hospital and an active duty medic-nin chuunin, who (in his Konoha) were routinely tasked with up to S-class group missions due to their rarity. Either one of those would have been a full time job, let alone being tasked with additional paperwork at the behest of a lazy and/or incompetent Hokage. He understood she’d not appreciate his negative opinion on her mentor, so didn’t say anything.

“I actually have something to discuss with you, if you’d not mind?” He gestured in the direction she had been heading. He knew that Itachi had a clan meeting today, and thus wouldn’t be interrupting this conversation, accidentally or otherwise.

“Of course,” she agreed, and began walking.

He asked about how she was settling in, trying to keep the initial conversation light, and when the discussion turned to her work in the hospital, he found himself taken aback at what she said.

“Hokage-sama, I would pay _all_ of my current savings, and future income for the next two months if I could take out an assassination contract on Yarori-sensei,” her entire demeanor shifted, voice filling with contempt and hatred, and he could almost _see_ the dark intent waft from her. It practically itched at his skin, it was so powerful. “I’d _double_ it if I could do it myself.”

“Eh, he he,” He laughed nervously, edging slightly away from her. He had no idea she could turn so _scary_. “Sorry, Haruno-san, no contracts allowed on members of Konoha.”

She snorted, and like a light switch, the demon version of her disappeared. He cleared his throat, then foolishly asked, “Why the hatred?”

The following rant lasted until they got to the park. He made noises at the right moments, letting her vent as she apparently needed to (he was well experienced doing the same with his wife), and was frankly surprised at the treatment she was receiving. He wondered if it was time for Dr. Yarori to retire; he had found that older generations tended to resist change, and thus improvement, the longest. Dr. Yarori had been there a very long time. 

“Have you told Itachi about this?” He asked when she huffed, apparently done with her venting.

She blinked, and turned to look back at him. “No, why would I?”

As her Soulbonded, Itachi probably would have gone to _personally_ terrorize the man for making her unhappy. She was also an official member of the Uchiha clan and they were the most influential clan in the village; the way she was treated was shameful for a person of that status, let alone a member of the head family. But he didn’t say that, because while she did look slightly confused at his question, there was a hint of hardness to the answer. She was still fighting against the Bond and what that meant, he sighed internally.

He said instead, “Itachi would have brought this to my attention earlier. You’re a medic-nin, and those are as rare as snow here. We are wasting our resources on you changing bandages and holding hands. You should at least be teaching others if the hospital board can’t justify validating your credentials enough to work on patients directly.”

She blushed a bit as he kicked her self defensiveness out from under her, and looked away. They were now sitting on a wooden bench in a pleasure park, designed so civilians could have a nice area to go without the worry of a shinobi accidentally throwing a wayward kunai or jutsu in their direction.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Hokage-sama,” she said, then changed the topic, “You said you wanted to discuss something with me?”

“Yes,” He leaned onto his forearms, “I wanted to discuss what you told Kushina.”

She lost her embarrassment, instead dropping her shoulders in regret and sorrow. “I’m sorry for causing any issues, Hokage-sama. I should have kept it to myself.”

He shook his head, “When you had said that I died fighting the Kyuubi on October 10th, we had assumed it was because it got loose from Kushina during her childbirth, as almost happened here. We had assumed that it meant she had rebound it back with her abilities, and was here to raise our son alone. It was our foolishness to assume, not yours for failing to tell us.”

He sighed, then leaned back, hooking his arms behind him on the bench. “I would like you to tell me about Naruto.”

And she did. Haruno spoke of an unruly blond hair child with whiskers on his face, a penchant for orange, and was so, so alone. She told of his kindness, his spirit, and his ability to sway even foreign ninja in battle. She spoke of his school work, which was atrocious, his home, and how small and decrepit that apartment was. She spoke of his love for their final year academy school teacher, Umino Iruka, and how that was apparently his only parental figure. She told of his endless energy, his preference in Kage bunshin, and the red energy that he called when on their first C-rank jutsu, which at first she believed to be a new or forgotten bloodline limit. She paused a moment, then spoke of the village and their reactions to his son, their hatred and fear.

“Did you also hate him?” He asked, squinting into the sky. He kept his voice neutral.

She didn’t immediately deny it, which surprised him. Most people would nearly trip over themselves in denial over possibly being abusive against the Hokage’s son. Instead she sighed, then said, “I thought he was very annoying. I didn’t hang out with him in school, and I didn’t know he was an orphan until graduating year. All I knew of him initially was that he was loud, obnoxious, got terrible grades, kept trying to trick me into kissing him, and no matter what trouble he got into—and he got into a _lot_ —he was never dropped from the class.” Her mouth twisted with regret, “All I saw as a child was some brat who seemed to get away with everything, things that would have gotten me, a civilian born girl, removed from the class at the first offense. I had to fight to get accepted, and I had to fight to keep my grades to maintain my position enough to become a true ninja, and wouldn’t you know it, there were _seven_ clan kids, five of them _heirs_ , in our graduating class, so it was even harder. I was the _only_ civilian born to become a genin that year.”

She then leaned back into the seat, and her voice dropped the bitter edge, “As an adult, with maturity and hindsight, I recognize that he was just a kid desperate for a friend, for attention, even if it was negative attention. I understand being the Kyuubi host sealed his fate. But as a child, I did hate him. As much as little girls hate little boys who slip bugs into their bags and get away with it.”

“Pretty strongly then,” he joked quietly, assured by her honesty. He felt something loosen in him, a tension that he held around a choice.

“He was smelly too, so didn’t have that going for him either.” She joked back, a reluctant smile on her face, but it quickly dropped. “We got closer as a genin team, as one does when we struggle through the tenth mission capturing a cat for an aristocrat, or the twelfth grocery run for picky old ladies. Shared misery binds allies. That’s when I first started to notice that things didn’t add up with him, like _why_ he lived alone as he did, or _why_ his clothing never seemed to be laundered properly. But then the chuunin exams happened, the Sound and Sand attack happened, then Sasuke abandoned the village, and then Naruto left for his own safety. He is a terrible penpal, and I’ve not seen him in years. It was only after he left that I learned about the Kyuubi, from a report I probably shouldn’t have been reading. There was apparently a law put in place to prevent the elders telling the younger generation about the Kyuubi and Naruto’s relation to it.”

Minato dropped his head back, rubbing at his temple. He was trying to keep his emotions in check, to prevent Kushina from getting too worried about what he was doing. It was hard, the way that the village treated his son… He knew Kushina had issues growing up, and still today there were holdouts, but even then she was far better off than Naruto. Was that the reason the Sandaime had put that law in place? For Naruto’s safety and well being? It didn’t seem to have helped at all.

A number of children were laughing and playing around the park before them. There was a small stream some meters away of particular interest to the children, a small field where parents were gathered and sharing a picnic, and he and Haruno were sitting upon a gravel walking path. He knew his guard was keeping a respectful distance to the conversation, as he asked them, and was ensuring that others also didn’t get too close either.

“Tell me of Kakashi,” He asked next. 

She looked at him curiously, “Forgive me for asking, but why? Kakashi-sensei spent a lot of time on Naruto. I think he even went to Naruto’s place a few times as a purely welfare check, and made him eat vegetables and not just cup ramen.”

Well, that was better than nothing, but still far, far below acceptable. “Because Kakashi was my student for most of his life, and I’d like to try and understand why he would have not been there for my son _before_ being assigned his jounin sensei.”

“Oh,” She blinked at him, clearly surprised. He watched as the connections were made in her mind, her mouth opening then closing again. “Oh.” She said again, much softer.

She cleared her throat and began, in a carefully neutral voice, “Kakashi-sensei’s first impressioned on us by being late to genin pickup by three hours, telling us a terrible excuse about helping an old lady or something. He then introduced himself saying there were things he liked and disliked, he didn’t think about dreams for the future, and he had hobbies. Safe to say, none of us appreciated his humor just yet. Kakashi-sensei had already denied three other genin teams by that point…”

She wasn’t as knowledgeable of Kakashi as she had been of Naruto, which was noteworthy considering that she should have spent the longest with him as his only remaining genin when the others departed. She spoke briefly of the few stories Kakashi had told her of himself, and the information she had gathered on her own, which was more comprehensive. Minato learned that, unlike here, all of Kakashi’s team had died, starting with Obito during the war with Stone and Cloud. Sakura wasn’t aware how Rin had died, but she did know she did sometime after the war. She knew from his service record he was in ANBU by then, and remained as such until being assigned his first genin team three years before meeting Naruto. By then he was also the only shinobi in the village with the sharingan (and how he got _that_ went frustratingly unexplained, though Minato could assume), and Haruno theorized that was why he was assigned her team. Naruto, being the bottommost student, was paired with the top two in his class, so she had assumed Kakashi’s assignment as his teacher had been happenstance.

Minato didn’t think so—there was no way the last remaining Uchiha of that world and _his_ son _wouldn’t_ have been given the best sensei possible, regardless of their positioning in class. And she had said Kakashi was one of the most powerful jounin she had met, so he knew that he was the best. The Sandaime played the long game; he wouldn’t have been surprised to also learn that the first three teams had been used as a sort of sacrificial softening agent for Kakashi before the ‘important’ team.

He also realized that Itachi wasn’t wrong in his assessment of her training; Haruno had been set up to fail by the Sandaime when he formed the teams. It would have been an arduous task to properly train the emotionally damaged Uchiha heir, and the sheer project that was the Kyuubi host Naruto (both of whom, being orphans, had no family to assist their training or general well being) as well as a third student, who as a civilian born (civilian born being notoriously mediocre shinobi, as they generally needed special attention to develop their own techniques, and there simply wasn’t enough jounin to do so). Properly managing all _three_ was well beyond most jounin and possibly even _this_ world’s Kakashi. In _that_ world, with the mess that Kakashi was; the third student would never have paired up against the two boys in time and energy demand and value to the village, so would have been given minimal attention to the benefit of the others. An established clan never would have let their child be sacrificed for their teammates in that way. That was where the civilian kunoichi came in; she was never expected to go beyond genin.

He wondered if she figured that out for herself yet. Probably, she was very intelligent.

He asked briefly about Jiraiya, but she knew even less than Kakashi. He was Konoha’s spymaster, a pervert who wrote books, and a partial Frog Sage. She knew he taught Naruto the rasengan, one of the only custom jutsu Minato had taught his former teacher, but he knew it was still incomplete from her descriptions. He had hoped his mentor had been able to develop the technique more, but apparently not.

“And that’s what I know, Hokage-sama.” She concluded, offering one of the anko buns to him.

The sun, which had been steadily rising since they sat down, was now sitting overhead. He accepted a bun and thanked her, as it was nearing lunch time.

By the time he finished it, he had made his decision.

“I want Naruto to have something of mine, something more than a half thought out jutsu.” He said, watching the civilian children playing at the edge of the water, “So I’m going to teach you my Flash, then you can pass it onto him if and when you go back.”

He had to be quick to grab the box as it went flying when she flailed off the bench in shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a _lot_ of callbacks in this story, small things scattered in the text that tie this one to the original. I hope y'all enjoy them as much I enjoyed writing them.


	6. Cracks

“Itachi-san, I’m going to the market, would you like me to get you something?” Sakura called as she went into the mudroom to put on her shoes. She felt him just on the other side of the wall that led to the backyard, so she pitched her voice to carry down the hall.

The sound of the door sliding open heralded his approach on otherwise silent feet, and she looked up just as he finished tucking something into his kimono, looking like a book of some sort. He was probably reading out on the porch, he did that when the weather was nice, though he only wore a kimono if he planned on leaving the house unless he was going training. Otherwise when lounging for the day, he wore typical Uchiha clothing, consisting of a blue shirt and dark shorts. 

“I do have something,” he said, his deep voice as lovely as always. “Though I would like to accompany you, if that’s alright.”

They had been training together for the past few months, at least once a week though their schedules didn’t always match up. He was an extremely attentive teacher, honestly the best she has ever had, and she legitimately could say it was a mostly, if not completely, nonsexual attention—he was simply a great teacher. She could also now fully appreciate how he was able to murder an entire prestigious shinobi clan in a single night without the rest of the village becoming aware. She had spent more than a few nights wondering—what _was_ the difference between here and there that caused such a great divide in character? Especially if so much else was the same? She could hardly picture the man who laid next to her in the field during one of their training breaks, talking happily about various small things, taking a blade to all of his extended family when he was _thirteen_. 

She felt extremely proud of herself for landing a punch against his torso in the most recent training, even though she had still gotten pinned almost immediately after. She declared herself the winner of that fight despite her face being pressed into the dirt, the first and thus far only, since she’d have killed him with that same punch and a bit more chakra. She was chipper for the rest of the day, even when he lightly complained about her unnecessarily breaking _six_ of his ribs as she healed her handiwork after. “No pain, no gain,” she said, a saying of Tsunade’s.

He smirked, “I’ll try to be faster next time.” Quoting her usual complaint when she lost against him.

She giggled, patting his shoulder to signal that her healing was completed. “Incentive to learn,” she chirped, quoting _his_ usual response and causing him to chuckle back. He had a really wonderful laugh. 

Her work at the hospital had improved. Dr. Yarori, the devil himself, had finally retired, and Sakura had happily gone and gotten drunk in celebration along with an unsurprising number of female coworkers (she had been collected by Itachi at around 2AM, and had to suffer the misguided smirks and comments from them at work now, though a few had turned mildly hostile for some reason). She had also been placed in charge of the few medic-nin already in the hospital for training, and once word got around that it was _actual_ medic-nin training, she quickly became the mentor for what felt like every medic-nin or aspiring one in the village. It quickly ate up her time, but it was much better work than before.

What had not gone so well was her training for the Yondaime, who had sworn her to secrecy for the assignment. He had only managed to attend two training sessions in the five weeks since he approached her, but his jutsu was _complex_. She had easily memorized the jutsu details, and understood what she _should_ do, but the actual working with space/time was a hard stop so far. It didn’t come naturally to her and personally she had no idea how she would manage to teach Naruto something this difficult. She loved him, but the numbskull didn’t even know what made up chakra until _after_ graduation. The Yondaime felt that she could better teach the ability from a point of understanding, which was why he persisted that she actually accomplish the jutsu. She was a teacher’s pet by nature, and she hated to disappoint him for her inability to successfully master his jutsu. Of course, no one had any clue whether she’d even go back, so it may be a moot point.

Back at the present, she agreed to Itachi’s request. “Sure, that’s alright.” Sakura wiggled her foot to settle better into her sandal, tightening the straps on the legs. She had gotten a lot more comfortable around him since they started training. True to his word, he had kept it friendly and not tried anything too forward. Except for his laugh—she was pretty sure that was psychological warfare on his part. Still, she tried her best to keep her propriety, making a small, rough list of rules to follow. 

Sakura grabbed her basket where she intended to carry her purchases. She didn’t need much, but if she wanted to make that stew tonight she’d need some fresh vegetables, and they were out of lotus root and carrots. They traded off on making meals, usually whoever was able to. He was a very good cook, and she had gotten used to coming into the kitchen to see him there with an apron on.

She went to the door and opened it, holding it open behind her as she turned back to her… to Itachi. He was neatly putting on his sandals, the only non-traditional styled part of his outfit. He always wore slightly modified ninja sandals and not zori wooden sandals as a kimono traditionally required. It should clash, but it oddly just fit. His large hands swiftly finished with the straps of his shoes, his motions precise and oddly memorizing. He had such nice hands.

She made herself look away, turning to face the road as if she was looking at the path. No creepy staring, that was a rule. 

“Sakura,” he said next to her, and she smiled at him reflexively, despite herself. He took the door from her, and locked it behind them. 

They chatted lightly about what they were heading to the market for—Sakura for her dinner additives, Itachi for a tin of peach infused tea leaves he had special ordered from some small village in Tea country—before the conversation wavered over to music somehow. 

“Eh?? You’re tone deaf?” Sakura blinked at the man, frankly stunned. He was so… _perfect_ at everything, damn him, it was shocking to find any flaw at all. And he had a lovely voice, she would have been under the impression he had a good singing voice to match.

He gave her a small, almost rueful smile. “Essentially. When I was younger, I attempted to learn to play the guitar. Unfortunately, I could never quite match the tonations and rhythm required for true play, and I quit after a couple years of trying. I think I remember that Shisui threw a party in celebration.”

Sakura was vaguely familiar with Itachi’s cousin Shisui—he had come up in conversation more than a few times. She didn’t know the details, but knew the man had died nine years ago during the invasion of Sound, having helped the Yondaime kill Orochimaru. By the way Itachi referenced him, they had been very close while he was alive. 

“Have you tried other instruments?” She inquired as they turned the corner to face the busy marketplace, “Maybe it was limited to the guitar.”

He gave her a side look, his smile growing just a hair, “Lets see… A few instruments that come to mind that I tried are the flute, violin, piano, and hyōshigi.”

Sakura nearly stumbled in shock at the admission, “Hyōshigi?” She choked out, “Wooden clappers?! How can you possibly not be able to play _wooden clappers_?!” She had been to a kabuki theater a few times in her life, and the musician basically just banged the two sticks together to create a noise as far as she could tell. 

“My instructor would like to know that also.” 

She stared at him incredulously a few moments, trying to tell if he was serious. He had that slight curve to his lips, a teasing smirk, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. He sometimes did that when she discovered something of this world wholly inconceivable in hers, but was common here (like the fact that Sasuke was apparently married and already had _children_ , as in, _more than one_ ).

Sakura opened her mouth, to question him further, but was interrupted before she could.

“Uchiha-sa _ma!_ ” An older, crinkled voice called out, rising on the last note. 

They turned, and watched as an old lady hobbled surprisingly quickly up to them, a big grin across her face. She made a beeline to Itachi, and Sakura breathed out her breath in a huff. She had forgotten this happened with him. 

It had been very unnerving at first, when she had made her into the marketplace and people just _approached_ her asking about and for all number of things. They would come up to her and start complaining about this regulation, wanting to press forward that regulation, or snitch on So-and-So’s neighbor’s dog, who kept barking past 9 at night when ‘ _all good and respectable people went to bed, dearie!_ ’ Sakura was used to being recognized by the shinobi populace for her medical abilities, and occasionally asked about her opinion regarding various maladies that they should have gone to sick call for. But in regards to clan business and or village business, she had no idea what they were talking about ( _or cared about_ , her inner voice grumped) most of the time. 

It had sputtered out as the knowledge of her _otherness_ spread. Now she mostly just got the occasional prod to pass on a message to her bonded—those people she learned to avoid. 

However, if she had been approached, it was nothing to how Itachi was approached. People seem to come out of the woodwork to speak and complain about the most mundane and pointless things. Really, what was Itachi going to do about a street lamp that sputtered occasionally near someone’s home? Pushing back the Chuunin exams to not interfere with someone’s birthday celebration? 

Sakura stood awkwardly next to Itachi as he politely, with far more patience than she’d have managed, explained that the chuunin exams were something coordinated with multiple hidden villages. That the arrangements have been in place for months already, and it wouldn’t be fair to those who have already planned around it to be forced to change them to accommodate one person?

She spotted a vegetable stand just a few stalls over, and quietly made her escape as a middle-aged woman with a child on one hip and another holding onto her hand took the place of the old lady. Ah, there we go, freedom to continue with her chores. She smiled as she felt the glare of envy Itachi was undoubtedly giving her right then, as he sensed her abandonment. Oh, some dango, those looked lovely, and may be a good apology gift. Sakura felt herself smile as she picked up the plastic carton, her mind flitting to how much her Itachi liked these and… her smile dropped as she realized what she was doing, and she set down the item. He was not _her_ anything, she _had to_ keep reminding herself. She swallowed, took a deep breath, and set her shoulders—leaving the dango where it was. Friendliness was fine, gifts were not, it was a rule.

Sakura shopped alone for about twenty minutes, making her way through the marketplace, feeling in that strange way as Itachi stayed where he was for a moment, started towards her only to get stopped again part of the way again. She had even managed to pick up the special tea order with little hassle, as it was near the booth with the root vegetables. He finally caught up as she paid for her lotus root and a few extra potatoes and yams that she could use in different applications later. 

“Sakura,” He said as he stepped to her, a barest hint of pout to his voice. “That wasn’t very nice, leaving me alone back there.” 

She grinned at the shopkeep, knowing Itachi couldn’t see it as she took her recent purchases. “Oh? Did you need some backup to handle a few civilians who wanted someone to complain to? Perhaps I shall inquire about an ANBU detail—the Yondaime has found them useful, I believe.” She had to smother her smirk as she turned to look at him again, putting as much of a guileless expression as she could at seeing his pout for herself. It was another one of those micro-expressions, something a normal person probably wouldn’t have seen, but she could spot the ever so slight extension of the lower lip.

She also saw the sparkle of humor in his dark eyes too, so maybe she didn’t hide her own expression well enough. 

Sakura dropped her face to her purchase, fiddling with placing it in her basket as she took a step away from him after realizing she was a bit too close—and her hands tingled with their want to touch him. No unnecessary touching, it was an easy rule, or so she thought when she made it. She casually swung her basket to the inside arm, the side facing him, making her step into movement towards home. She kept a firm grip on the basket with the side closest to him to prevent her wandering hands. 

Unfortunately, and she wasn’t quite certain how, he managed to fall in step next to her—on her other side now. His distance was reasonable, so she let it be. And her rearranging the basket again would be _too_ obvious, anyway. “I hardly think an ANBU team deserves to have their time wasted fending off well meaning—if overbearing—concerned citizens of Konoha.” 

“All I hear is complaints, good sir.” She kept her face as proper as she could, but felt the slight tightness in her cheeks that indicated she was probably still not doing a good job at hiding her smile. “Complaining about the civilians, but also complaining about the solution.”

“Hm,” He hummed as he took a few steps next to her, before continuing, “You know, there _is_ a third option,” he stopped next to her, turning so that he faced her at an angle. 

“Eh?” She stopped with him curiously, but twitched in complete surprise as he reached out and grabbed her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm carefully in a practiced motion before she knew to react. 

He had never initiated touch like that before, and it felt too intimate that he was doing it now, with _how_ he was doing it. She fought against her blush and looked up at him, opening her mouth to absurdly tell him he was breaking one of the rules she had made up but—

His smile was smug.

Her mouth snapped closed and her eyes squinted suspiciously. Why was he _smug?_ There was nothing to be smug about. Then his dark eyes darted to look at something over her shoulder, and she felt cold dread fill her veins. She chanced a glance behind her.

Oh no. Oh, no _no_. 

Walking purposefully was an old man, a cane held in one hand, though it didn’t slow him down any. His silver hair cut close to the scalp made him look almost bald, and his skin was liverspotted and wrinkled with age. She had to deal with the dreaded Danzo in her world (well, Tsunade mostly did, but she had to deal with him far too often as her student), but _this_ man was almost as bad as the old war hawk, despite never having been anything other than a civilian. 

The first time she had met Kimotoyo Ibishi, a brief moment that had put her slightly off kilter, she had mentioned offhandedly it to Kushina. The woman had gone onto an hour long rant about the man, and Sakura had felt that he couldn’t possibly be that bad. 

She had since learned from her mistakes, he _was_ that bad. 

He complained—about _everything_. He was seemingly at every city meeting, town hall, or conference event Kohona had. He managed to get onto the advisory board of at least three entities that she knew of, and she was only _aware_ of four. Konoha didn’t put enough money into education, kids were not controlled during school, the sewer systems hadn’t been cleaned in too long, the road to the capital needed to be refinished—and, just as it happened, he knew of a cousin’s or a son-in-law’s or his own business that could help with that very issue. The man was a sleazeball, but he was persistent and had his finger in too many pies not to be heard out. 

And he had clearly spotted them already.

Sakura reacted instinctively to the sight of him, making to flee, but her hand was still trapped in Itachi’s grip. She looked back at him and scowled, causing his lips to curl just slightly more in response. 

“If I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.” He said, his voice kept low to not be overheard and filled with _far_ too much sadism at her fate. He very well knew of her dislike of the man. 

“You monster,” she hissed back, with feeling. 

“Kimotoyo-dono,” Itachi raised his voice to greet the man instead of replying, gripping her hand more firmly against her not-so-subtle tug. She’d have to put real force into her extraction, more than she felt she could get away with in this setting. 

The old man, predictably, began to ‘inform them’ of a ‘terrible’ situation, in which he kept slipping in a relative’s business that could fix said problem. Sakura, unlike with the others that had approached Itachi, did not escape being directed at for his slimy, underhanded ways. He kept trying to get her to agree to his set up situation, so he could use her opinion as leverage to insist on something to fix the issue. If her opinion didn’t match the one he wanted, he would just flatly ignore it like it didn’t exist. 

What was worse, was that Itachi seemed to be intentionally dragging the conversation on, asking questions, and playing to the man’s ego. As she knew he disliked him more than almost anyone (second to Kushina, who seemed to clash with the man at every opportunity), she knew he was doing it to torment her. Bastard.

“Well, Kimotoyo-dono,” she butted in when the man was taking a breath, “It was informative speaking with you, but I am sorry to say that we left dinner cooking at home and I have to go back and tend to it. I’m sure you understand, as we are expecting guests to arrive and we simply cannot be rude enough to impose upon them to wait past the appointed time.”

The old man blinked, his watery eyes desperately needing glasses but too proud or stubborn to get them, thrown off the thought train he was trying to shove at them. “Oh,” He paused, because he clearly wanted to continue the conversation, but had only moments before impressed the loss of manners in today’s generation—ignoring that his disparagement were against both people before him, “Yes. Yes, we need to keep our commitments. Very well, Uchiha-dono, I shall not keep you any longer today.”

“It was good speaking with you,” Itachi lied, bowing shallowly. 

Sakura not so subtly used her still trapped hand to drag the Uchiha with her, bowing quickly as she went, lest the old man change his mind, “Until next time, Kimotoyo-dono.” _Next time as in_ ** _never_** _, cha!_

She kept the almost frog march up for the rest of the distance out of the marketplace, which was a little more than a block, neatly avoiding any further person who looked ready to approach them. She could practically _feel_ Itachi’s amusement next to her. He very well knew they did not have dinner cooking at home, nor were expecting any guests. 

As soon as they turned a corner, she spun on her heel and swung with her fist—only to meet air as he, now wise to her ways, moved out of her retaliation range before she could connect. 

“Get back here and take what you’ve _earned_ ,” She snarled, turning to where she sensed he moved to. He was now calmly walking about a dozen feet in front of her, hands clasped behind him as if he hadn’t just forced her to endure Kimotoyo’s presence. “What did you think you were doing?!”

“A burden shared is a burden halved,” He quoted at her, still having that teasing hint to his voice. She tried not to think about how well it fit with his rich baritone, and held onto her indignation.

“I think it was more that _misery loves company,_ ” She snarked back, still peeved as she began stalking after him—they were going to the same place, after all, back home.

He laughed outright at her comment, and she felt her anger melt away at it. Not fair. 

“It was not that bad,” He said as he stopped chuckling, slowing to allow her to walk beside him again. 

“That was time I’ll never get back now, thanks to you. _Hours_ of my life, sacrificed for no good reason.” She made herself hunch her shoulders and look away from him in an angry huff, when she wanted to bump him with her hip. But that was too intimate, so she didn’t. 

“It was hardly hours,” She couldn’t see him as she still was looking away, but she knew he was smiling at her . She knew she’d do something stupid if she saw it, so she didn’t look. 

They walked for a bit longer, her continuing her charade of offense (it allowed her to keep her distance) against his soft conversation prods, before he hummed, “Hm, I see it was a greater offense than intended. Would a gift make it up in compensation?”

That surprised her, and she stopped, her heart leaping with both joy and wariness. He stopped with her, close, but not too close, his face now carefully neutral that even she couldn’t see through. When had he gotten her something? _Why_ had he? 

He reached into his kimono and pulled out the object she had seen before they left—the book. It was a light brown color, with a fabric liner. Thin, and just a little bit longer and wider than his hand, it looked very much like a journal—a _used_ journal. At least a handful of years old, as there were wear spots on the fabric, and it looked like it had been dropped on its corner at least once. 

His demeanor changed, adopting a solemnity, and he handled the journal as if it was something precious and not an old, worn notepad. It made her hackles rise.

“This was my wifes’,” he said, and Sakura rocked back onto her heels, instantly on the defense as her stomach dropped out from her. 

“I don’t—” She started, her shoulders tightening. 

“This is not her memoirs,” He cut her protests off. “She kept those in a separate book. This is… this is a collection of her jutsu notes.” He smiled, but it held none of the joy from earlier. “They are encrypted, so I can’t read them, but this book should be her most difficult abilities, ones she had to work through to master.” He looked at it a bit longer, then held the book out to her with both hands. 

Sakura looked at the battered notepad as if it was a snake. She had taken pains to separate herself from _her_ , consciously choosing to eliminate things in her life that _she_ had in hers—even to things such as the music she listened to. It just felt... _wrong_ to use things that were once hers, to do things she did, like Sakura was trying to fake into the role the woman had left here, even if the things were things that Sakura just naturally liked. She had even started to let her hair grow out, because _she_ had also cropped it to her chin. It now went past her shoulders, and she often kept it in a messy bun on the back of her head, long out of practice or care for such length. 

So intentionally taking and possibly using a journal of _hers_ was high on Sakura’s priorities **not** to do. 

She frowned heavily, taking a step back, her grip tightening on her basket. “I really cannot accept such a thing,” she refused, “Your wife’s records are hers, and she encrypted them for a reason. I will respect that privacy.”

He paused, watching her with that carefully neutral expression before dropping his eyes to look at the book, “This is not so you can replace her,” he said, and her shoulders jerked from the direct remark. She opened her mouth to object, to lie against the truth of her refusal, but nothing came out and she closed it again. He continued softly, “I do not want you to replace her.”

Sakura looked away, her insides twisted in conflict from the remark. She was absurdly hurt from the comment, and that was ridiculous—she didn’t want to replace his wife either. 

_But she had_ , a dark part of her whispered. And she hated herself for it, for doing that to him. 

“However, my wife would not have wanted her abilities to be completely lost. It was why she wrote them down in a journal in the first place, in case something… happened. Of everyone that I have met, I believe you would be the best to inherit these abilities—and _that_ is because of your own skill set, not because of any similarities between you.”

Still frowning, she raised her eyes back to him and she saw the sincerity in his black eyes. 

“Please,” he said simply. “If nothing else, it contains information on your mentor’s Seal of a Hundred, and as you are no longer able to have her tutorship, this can be used instead. You are not obliged to do anything with the rest if you don’t want to.”

Her shoulders slumped. She really had no argument against finishing learning a technique her mentor had already begun to teach her, something that was more Tsunade’s than _hers_. “Fine,” she felt herself say. Her lips pursed as she took the book from him, a small but not delicate object, and quickly tucked it away next to her purchases in her basket. It burned where her hand touched it, and her basket felt much heavier than it should.

They walked the remaining distance home together in stiff silence, the previous lightness gone. Itachi may have wanted to say something to her when they arrived back at the house, but Sakura had hurried off to put away the supplies, and he didn’t stop her. She eventually felt him leave again, heading towards the main part of the Uchiha district, and she let out a heavy breath. 

The journal remained untouched in her basket for three days before she picked it up again. 

**XXXXX**

It was a beautiful day as she walked through the Uchiha district, the sun lit the world warmly, and the light breeze kept the atmosphere pleasant. It wasn’t the day itself that caused her trepidation, it was her destination… or, more accurately, _who_ she was looking for. 

She had been very careful in her time in this world to avoid certain people, even certain places because of those people. She found that it hurt more to have strangers wearing her friend’s faces, to have them not know _her_ , than to simply not see them. So she never went near Ichiraku, she avoided the memorial stone, shopped outside the high fashion district, she avoided her parent’s shop and home, and she kept mostly out of the Uchiha district. Kohona was large, but there weren’t enough people in the village that she could have avoided her friends entirely. Those times someone she knew ran across her path, she simply turned and avoided interaction with them if she could. 

Today however, she was intentionally going to speak to Sasuke. 

She walked through the Uchiha district, ignoring the eyes that followed her. She still felt uncomfortable here, unwelcome, like an interloper despite Itachi’s insistence otherwise. She ignored the harsh whispers, _she looks_ ** _just like_** _her; can you_ ** _believe_** _what she’s doing to our heir, so cruel; I wonder if they_ … She blocked them out as much as she could. She was thankful that their home was… that Itachi’s home was located near an entrance, and so she could easily access the rest of the village without traversing the entirety of their lands each time. She had met more than a few Uchiha in her time here, but usually they were happenstance occasions out of their district.

Itachi was currently out of the village, having left the day before last on a mission. He didn’t do them often, not nearly as much as an active shinobi of Konoha usually did since he was mostly focusing shadowing the Yondaime, but occasionally there was a need for his particular skill set. This one had come abruptly, and he told her after he had come home on the day he had given her the journal. When she had awoken, he was far from the village, somewhere out heading towards Wave. 

She took advantage of his distance, since he may otherwise wonder about her venture into his clan’s properties. She didn’t want him to get the wrong impression, but… she just had to _know_.

After a bit of wandering, she found Sasuke in the park. She hadn’t been certain where he would be, only knowing off hand that he usually kept to the district boundaries in his free time. She had maybe not quite legally snooped into the active duty roster, something she shouldn’t have access to since she wasn’t even active herself, but it was necessary to be able to know whether he was even in town or not. She had believed—hoped, feared—it would have taken a day or two of meandering to come across him, even if he wasn’t out of town on a mission, but she found him easily. 

She paused and watched Sasuke a moment, feeling her heart squeeze. He looked… different, and yet not. His hair was the same, he wore the typical Uchiha attire of a dark blue top with a wide neck and black pants tucked into wrappings and ninja sandals. But he was older, his face wasn’t pulled into a scowl, and he looked… content, bent over and digging into a large black bag at his side. 

He suddenly sat up and she saw that he had a baby strapped to his chest, and her heart stuttered. 

She forced herself to breathe, as shaky as it was, and looked around. The park had a handful of parents scattered on the wooden benches that surrounded the center playset, and the playset itself was swarming with children of all ages. It was more ninja in design than the civilian ones she grew up with, made to help train the children into various balancing and strength skills. 

He seemed to be alone, besides the child. His… his wife wasn’t here, a woman named Karin she had seen a picture of but had not met. She took another breath, and squared her shoulders before forcing her feet forward. She wanted this conversation to be just between them, so now was as good of time as any. 

He noticed her when she was a few steps away, looking up from cleaning the infant’s face. He raised both eyebrows in surprise at her.

“Uchiha Sasuke,” She greeted, stopping a bit away from him. 

“Ah,” He said, she felt something break in her at the sound of his voice, much deeper than what she remembered. She hadn’t heard him since he was a kid, barely budding into his teens. Had it really been nine years? “So you’re the new Soulbonded my brother has.”

She dropped her face to hide her expression. That was always everyone’s first thought, or close to it. It almost seemed to be more important who was bonded to who, than what village someone belonged to. As she had learned that people frequently swapped villages to better match their bonded, she supposed it was true. Still, she didn’t like that was everyone’s first thought; there was more to life than being soulbonded, she was her own person. 

She didn’t say anything about it, as it wasn’t the purpose for her visit today. She turned her duck motion into a nod, then raised her face back up once she was certain it was blank again. “Haruno Sakura, yes.”

He raised a singular eyebrow this time, a bit of curiosity to his features, but went back to cleaning his child’s face without further comment. The baby wasn’t a newborn, probably closer to six or seven months, and it wiggled and whined unhappily against his father’s attention. It was in a modern chest carrier, little chubby legs dangling under the straps, and wore an androgynous yellow onsie that appeared to be lightly stained with something, though it wasn’t dirty. 

“So, what do I owe the visit for, Haruno-san?” 

“Sorry,” she blinked and looked away, realizing that she had been staring. “I am… I have not seen you in almost a decade, and we did not leave on the best of terms.” _You knocked me out and left me alone, then nearly killed Naruto_. She took a breath, and asked, “May I sit?”

He shrugged, disposing of his wet wipe in the baby bag he had next to him, “It’s a free bench.”

She moved to sit on the far end of the bench, close enough that speaking was easy, but giving him plenty of space. She didn’t know if it carried over, but her Sasuke had always liked a wide gap between him and others, so she kept to that. It also made her less nervous to have that added space. She crossed her ankles and clasped her hands together in her lap to keep them from fiddling.

Sakura found her eyes drifting back to the baby, whose head was twisting and turning to look at everything around it. He (she?) spotted her and paused, then shoved his fingers into his mouth, happily drooling and chewing all over the digits. He had the same coloring as his father, with dark eyes and dark hair, though his hair seemed to be patchy, with varying lengths and a notable bald spot on the left side of his head. His cheeks were bright pink and plump, and a small button nose sat on his small face—looking not at all like Sasuke’s, so probably his mother Karin’s. 

It was the cutest thing she had ever seen in her life. 

“How old is he?” She found herself asking. She wanted to hold him, to squish the soft looking cheeks, but she clenched her hands together instead. 

“Eight months,” he said, and she could hear the pride in his voice. “Just started sitting up on his own.” 

She had no idea what that meant. Was that early or late? “What is his name?” She asked instead, at least glad her gender guess had been correct. 

“Akira, after my wife’s father.” He nodded his head over to the monkey bars, where there was a child dangling upside down from them. “The one with the green top, that’s Kagome.” The girl in question’s hair was in short pigtails, swinging with her movements and laughter, black as pitch as typical for Uchiha, but with red eyes that had nothing to do with the sharingan. “She’s my oldest, she’ll be five next month. She’s a bit spoiled but she’s a great kid.” He said with obvious affection.

 _Eh?!_ He had to have been _16_ or so when she was conceived! “You, uh, started early,” Sakura blurted, then blushed when she realized what her mouth said. Had she really been tactless enough to say that aloud? _Oh earth, swallow me now,_ her inner voice said. 

Sasuke coughed next to her, his own cheeks dusting with color. “Yeah, well. It happens. We met during our first chuunin exams.” He cleared his throat, “What did you want to talk about?” He asked again, obviously changing the subject.

“Right,” She looked at her clasped hands, “I wanted to ask you something. I… I know you’re not the same person as the Sasuke I remember, but… I think you may be able to help with a question. About _that_ Sasuke, what his motives might be, his thoughts and intentions.”

“Hn,” he said, and she couldn’t help the smile that twitched at her lips. That was his ‘Sure, go ahead’ one; she still could identify them even now. 

“How much of my world are you aware of, Uchiha-san?” She asked, her smile having already faded. 

He shrugged, “Not much. I know it’s supposed to be a much harsher place than here—more wars, more fighting. I know that my brother is somehow a nukenin there.” He said, his tone a voice reflecting how much he found that absurd. “I never really learned the details.”

She sighed to center herself, then, in as succinct a way as she could manage, she told him of Sasuke and the tragedy of the Uchiha. How she first saw him as a bright and happy child, the top of his class, then how one day he just vanished for two weeks. She told of how she found out about the massacre, and how different he was when he had come back to school. No longer the happy child, he had a darkness and a drive to him that nothing seemed to penetrate. She explained how it got a little better in the four years it took to graduate, how he became the cool kid of the class, top in grades and abilities, and how he belittled everyone else in it. 

She spoke of how she found out about his goal— _to kill a certain man,_ to kill _Itachi_ —and how he felt everyone else was dragging him down, and how that only slightly improved with the general team bonding experiences they endured. How he reacted to finding Itachi again, how he went right back to the dark child from the first year, how much hatred he had. She spoke of his rivalry with Naruto, his disregard for her, and then how he abandoned the village after meeting Orochimaru in the forest. She finished with the fact she had not seen him since, that no one had.

He was mostly silent through her story, making the occasional grunt. He turned to watch her part of the way through, and kept doing so for the remainder. It was odd, having his direct attention for that long. It didn’t make her heart thump like it would have as a child. 

“Hn,” Sasuke said when she finished, an over all unhappy grunt. He turned back away from her, petting the head of his now sleeping baby. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, tightening her arms across her stomach. She took a breath, let it out, then asked, “So my question is… what is his plan? What does he want to do?” 

“Hn,” he grunted again, still unhappy, but now contemplative. 

“AUNT SAKURA!” A small voice suddenly screeched. 

Sakura’s head snapped towards the sound to see the small girl with the green shirt from earlier sprinting towards her. She stood up as an immediate reaction, but then froze, uncertain how to proceed (should she run away? From a _kid_?), and then there was a small child attached to her leg, bouncing and jabbering a mile a minute about how it has been _forever and ever_ , and how was her mission, she bet it was _so cool_ to have taken so long, look at how big and awesome the girl is now, and she was such a great older sister and have become such a great little kunoichi. 

She looked frantically at Sasuke, but the bastard was _smirking_ , his eyebrows raised in almost a challenge, and she knew she was on her own. Perhaps a kawarimi?

“You _hav’ta_ come and watch, Auntie!” The girl grabbed at her hand and tugged, throwing her entire, tiny body weight into the grip. Her little feet dug into the dirt, but Sakura didn’t move an inch, still frozen in indecision, “It’s so _cool!_ I grab on’ta the bars with my legs and just spin and,” she heaved again, not stopping her tirade even as she grunted from the effort, and Sakura let herself be pulled this time, “and the whole _world_ turns and—”

Sakura had never really spent time around small children before, and certainly never would have thought she’d start with Sasuke’s firstborn. The girl never seemed to run out of steam, which made it easier to play into a role she felt very much out of place in, that of a loving and beloved aunt. Kagome chatted nearly non-stop, which made Sakura question how she was related to the notoriously near mute Uchiha clan at all, but did make Sakura’s effort minimal, just the occasional _hum_ , _ah_ , or _that’s amazing_.

Eventually, what seemed like eons later, Sasuke came to her rescue, saying that they had been having a conversation they would like to return to and Kagome instantly started whining and crying. Sasuke, used to her ways, mildly expressed a concern about having to go home already if she was tired and needed a nap, and the girl promptly stopped and ran back to the play set as if her life depended on it. 

“Well, she’s,” Sakura began, still feeling a little overwhelmed and out of place as they sat back down. _A bit like_ _Naruto, and isn’t that just fate?_ Her mind snarked. “Energetic.” She finished verbally instead. 

Sasuke nodded, “If we could hook her up to the power grid, I’m certain we can run off her excess energy for a decade or two.” 

He sighed and then looked down at his son. He was quiet for a moment, then said, “To answer your question I would kill Itachi, or die trying. Nothing would matter to me as much as that.”

He shook his head, and continued without prompt, “But you already know that, so I know that’s not the answer you’re looking for.” 

She nodded, looking at her hands. 

He was quiet again, raising his eyes to watch his daughter ordering around the other kids about the proper method to climb the jungle gym. “After I had done that… if I had already lost everyone in the world I loved…”

He shrugged and far too casually said, “I’d probably just kill myself.”

She jerked to face him, her heart stuttering in her chest. “W-what?!” she hissed, voice barely above a harsh whisper. 

“I am not saying that’s what your Sasuke would do, just what I would do were _I_ to find myself in that position,” he pointed out. He hunched his shoulders a bit, the barest twitch in probably a subconscious move, his hands cupping protectively, possessively, over his son. “I love my family very much, and I trust my brother explicitly. I trust him more than I trust **myself**. To have been betrayed by him, been hurt so deeply and irrevocably… I can see that hatred being the sole driving force in my life.”

He huffed a breath, and then leaned back into the park bench, shifting his hands to cup under the bottom of Akira. “With his death, that driving need will be gone, and I would have nothing to replace it with. Your Sasuke doesn’t have his wife, or his kids there to fight for. He even pushed away his own genin teammates, so that doesn’t give much hope for new companionship under Orochimaru. So with those facts of life, I personally wouldn’t see a purpose to continue on once I accomplished my goal. I’d not want to be the last Uchiha.”

Silence between them was deafening, the shrieks and giggles of the playgrounds seemingly distant. She felt cold for some reason.

Sakura took a sharp breath and finally broke the quiet, “I… see,” she swallowed. “Thank you... for your insight, Uchiha-san.”

“Hn,” He nodded, this one meaning _for what it’s worth, you’re welcome._

“If, if you’ll excuse me.” Sakura stood and brushed her skirt off, in case it had gotten dirty from sitting on the bench. She tried to ignore her hands shaking. 

“Haruno-san, wait,” Surprisingly, Sasuke stopped her before she made it further than a step. She turned and he stood and approached, keeping a comfortable distance but able to speak quietly enough that no one could overhear them. “One thing to keep in mind is that I can’t think of a reason _why_ Itachi would have done what he did there, if he is like my brother here. Perhaps he’s _not_ the same, but if that’s true, my own insight about Sasuke would be useless. But maybe Sasuke is, maybe Itachi is, and there is something that _caused_ that whole situation, caused Itachi to do those things rather than him doing them for his own reasons. If that is the case…” He sighed, and then gained a grimace, shaking his head, “Don’t _ever_ let Sasuke find out.” 


	7. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was crafted this way because I didn't want to 1) make a 50k word monster of a single chapter, 2) the scenes individually are too short on their own for a separate chapter, and 3) the scenes themselves didn't matter much, just their effect. So sorry for the word dump. I may in the future come back and redo them to write out each scene. 
> 
> But, same as Hiraeth, this chapter was planned from the beginning. Sorry (not sorry).

Sakura… was exhausted. Everything… everything that could have gone wrong, seemed to have. It almost seemed divine in nature, to have all of these terrible things arise at the same time, one right after the other. 

After the horrible revelation from Sasuke, she had thrown herself at _any_ sort of distraction. She spent more time training on the Flash, though that had given her no more progress than when she first started. She spent hours and hours crafting and re-crafting the destination seal until it felt _right_ , but it never did, leaving her frustrated and angry at herself. She spent more time at the hospital, but that seemed to have a compounding effect, with more people coming to her for help the more she helped, and there was only so much she could do. She even began working on the journal, but it didn’t prove much of a challenge. The encryption was something she solved within an hour, and knew it so well by the second that she could read it as if it wasn’t there. 

That whole book gave her a bit of concern. The workings and details of the jutsu contained therein just made _so much sense_ to her. It read out like she herself wrote it—and, she supposed, in a way it was. It made her wary, but also curious. _She_ had used this same journal for all of her complex jutsu, and that included the Seal of a Hundred. There was actually a very interesting cheat in there that enabled a much quicker accumulation of chakra for it than the method that her mentor had been teaching Sakura. 

Tsunade would have hated that. As a gambler, she had a strong dislike for even the idea of cheating, let one done to a jutsu creation of hers. 

Sakura had read and memorized each unknown jutsu in the book, working through it in her own mind but not yet making herself try them (she thought she could do them, but she feared the results of her trying. What if she failed? ...What if she _succeeded_?). The book also had a number of medical procedures that Sakura was already familiar with, the large majority of the contents, and she had been curious as to the reasoning behind them—cell repair, blood thinning and regeneration, gene mutation correction. Why these ones, and not more common, useful abilities, like poison extraction? 

She had been intrigued by the intricacies of the use of Nature chakra—reading the journal was almost like a catalog of failures and solutions for the ability. Apparently it was unlike other Nature chakra in that it had to be balanced not only in the user, but in the subject to which it was applied. She supposed that made sense, as it was more of a naturally healing chakra than a combative one. It had been even more intriguing when the journal had detailed how to work the Nature chakra _into_ the Seal of a Hundred, creating additional, separate pools of chakra to draw from. It was fascinating, both in concept and application, and she had actually gotten engrossed in the journal. 

But then she got to the end, and she read the beginnings of a study of Nature chakra use during pregnancy, and how it seemed to have minimal effect in the first trimester, but further careful monitoring would be warranted. The journal ended abruptly there.

Sakura had felt nauseous at the realization. She hadn’t known, no one had told her— _Itachi_ hadn’t—

But why would he tell her? Tell her that she had not only stolen the spot of his wife, but the mother of his child? The child that was lost because of it? She had taken his _family_ from him. ...Did he even know?

She had cried herself sick that day, and skipped work the following. She hid herself in one of the Uchiha training grounds, knowing no one would think to look for her there. She needed the time alone. 

That wasn’t even the end of her troubles, not even close. When she had finally made it back to the hospital, desperate for something to take her mind off the journal and it’s terrible truths, the hospital was swamped. There had been a break out of a particularly vicious, contagious sickness of the stomach, originating from the ninja academy and spreading to the parents and from there the rest of the village. As most students of the academy were from ninja clans, even the Hokage got involved to try and pressure a quick cure. But hindering that, a quarter of the staff were sent home due to catching it themselves; she was promptly, and rightly, yelled at for her abandonment of her duties when they were needed most. When she finally stepped into the chaos to help, her trainees constantly swarmed her as if she was the senior medical provider, despite the fact she very well was not. Probably because the virus seemed to respond best to chakra healing, and she still was the most skilled in that use in the hospital (adding to her guilt for taking the previous day off). However, she was _also_ the most experienced in creating cures of that same type of virus, and that required a couple hours of uninterrupted work to get right. As such, over a period of a triple shift, she had only just gotten a working prototype that helped curb the disease, allowing others to take over and her to take a much needed break.

Then, when she was getting groceries on her limited time off, she had been stopped by an older woman. She hadn’t known who the woman was, only that she was probably in her fifties, had greying hair that hung loose around her face, and was a Uchiha from the marker on her clothing—probably a council member, or related to one, as she wore traditional garb.

Completely out of the blue, the woman asked Sakura what she thought she was doing. As Sakura was running on about nine hours of sleep over the last three days, she frankly was not able to understand what the woman was really asking, and replied simply, “Shopping,” which did not go over well. The woman then went off on how Sakura was failing to do her duty to her soulbonded and to the Uchiha clan. Sakura sputtered, flabbergasted at the sudden verbal attack. 

The woman then gave her a once over, and then began to critique the way that Sakura was presenting herself, how she was shaming the Uchiha with the way she was dressed. This was the straw that snapped Sakura’s already thin patience, and she got into a verbal argument with the woman. The woman said that Sakura was selfishly enjoying the benefits of the Uchiha clan, but was not following the duty thereof. Sakura told her to fuck off, and abruptly left rather than give into the desire to drop kick her over to Suna, leaving the woman infuriated behind her. 

However, upon going to a different grocers and returning home, she found an agitated Sasuke waiting for her. The discussion that came from that meeting was… unfortunately enlightening. Apparently, the woman from earlier was Uchiha Mikoto, his mother— _Itachi’s_ mother. Of fucking course she was. And apparently what she had said was true in that Sakura, who thought her paycheck came from the hospital, was actually getting a stipend from the Uchiha coffers, and was otherwise a ‘volunteer’ in the Hospital. Sasuke told her that _she_ had had the ability to heal the sharingan, from her nature chakra, and since _she_ had left, the clan had been going without their typical healing sessions and some were starting to have negative repercussions to their eyesight because of it. He said that some of the clan were getting more and more upset, saying it had been seven months, what was taking her? And the fact that she didn’t even wear the Uchiwa or carry herself as a member of the Uchiha was seen as spitting in the clan’s face for their generosity and protection.

Sasuke, personally, didn’t really give two shits about that—what he cared about was the fact that she was now seriously endangering _Itachi’s_ position by her repeated denial of her position and the obligations therefrom, and that her latest stunt with Mikoto only added fuel to that fire. Sasuke had growled at her, “Itachi has protected you from the clan this long, but he won’t be able to do it much longer without _serious_ repercussions to his own position. So grow up and start acting like what you are—a Soulbonded partner to the future Uchiha clan head, whether you like it or _not!_ ” 

Having _Sasuke_ tell her to grow up was a verbal slap to the face, but what really pierced her was the sudden knowledge that her choices were negatively affecting _Itachi_. Just another crime she committed against him. 

A migraine had formed during the conversation. It didn’t abate as she made herself apologize to the manipulative harpy that was Uchiha Mikoto later that day—after changing into more… Uchiha appropriate attire. Sasuke’s harsh words cut her, but she heard the truth in them. Whether she liked it or not, it was out of her control. She wouldn’t do that knowingly to him. 

She went back to the hospital after, and changed over her pay accounting to reflect that of what she should be—that she _could_ control. She wasn’t able to get back pay for the time she had already put in, but she knew the system well enough to add herself to the rosters without anyone becoming aware enough to object, as long as it was an entry level pay scheme. In a few months, she could ‘promote’ herself to closer to what she should be. When she was done there she went to the bank and deposited her entire savings into the Uchiha accounts, finally using the clan information Itachi had given her months ago. She made note of the amount deficit between what she had “earned,” and what she had deposited (as she had been using the funds for things like clothing, food, and such). Sakura estimated it would take her about two months to fully pay it back if she worked another half shift in addition to her current roster, three if she didn’t. 

Maybe in another two months after that, she would have enough to move into a new place. She refused to be a burden. 

When she finally made it back home, she went to the room that she had been assigned to, and went through it. She looked for something, anything, in the space that could rightly be hers, not gained erroneously through the soulbond or a cast off of _hers_. She came up with a few scraps of papers with notes, a pen she probably had accidentally taken from the hospital, a red hairband from Kushina, and a kunai from the Hokage she used as a reference to her own seal makings for the Flash jutsu. She looked at her small pile, and legitimately thought of leaving, of leaving _Konoha_ , like Sasuke had done. She wondered whether Itachi would come for her, or if he would let her go. She wondered if he would even get a choice. 

She had a panic attack then, the first one since she was a teenager. She laid on her floor for what felt like hours, shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks and her hands cupped around her mouth to calm her too quick breaths.

She felt betrayed by him for lying to her about the journal’s purpose, which was ridiculous. He owed her no duty, and she’d not have taken it if he _had_ been honest. She even understood the reasoning of him giving her the journal—Slug chakra was mind boggling amazing. It could do things chakra healing could not, like bring people out of a coma, heal chronic illnesses, even reverse the negative effects of bloodline abilities, such as blindness in the sharingan and chakra burn out of the byakugan. It only made sense to try and reclaim that ability, using the person most likely to succeed—the doppelgänger of the one who mastered it in the first place. 

It still hurt, like a kunai dug into her heart. She had initially wanted to yell at him, to rant and scream and cry, but that initial anger in his absence days after boiled it down to just the hurt that lay underneath, and that she'd keep to herself. It didn’t matter, in the end. He owed her nothing. 

She had gone to find her parents the following day, feeling so isolated and lost that she didn’t care if they weren’t her parents but _hers_. But, when she went to their address, their home was missing and a stranger’s family were living there where it used to stand. She went to check clan rosters, to see if they had moved, only to find out the Konoha Haruno branch had died some nine years before, during the invasion of Sound. Here, apparently, her parents had _not_ been at the chuunin exams watching her team participate. Here, her team had been held back from partaking the chuunin exams, and her parents had died when their home had been crushed by a giant snake. And she had been such a terrible daughter that it took her _seven months_ to even learn of it. 

She didn’t remember the next few days very well. 

And, on top of everything else, what had made it all so much worse, was that she _missed_ him. He had been gone for a mere two weeks now, and she missed him with an intensity she had never experienced before, even with Sasuke. Every day she woke up and immediately, unconsciously, reached for that sensation, that weird knowing, that feeling of where he was. And each time it hurt just a bit more that he was so far away. She missed making dinner for him, missed trying his own cooking, missed the minor domestic reality of shared chores, their light conversation, and occasional sparrings, where he challenged her to be better, made her better. She missed him because she loved him and she hated herself for it because she _couldn’t_ love him. She was not his wife, she didn’t belong here, she was a stranger, an imposter, a _replacement_. 

She wondered if he missed her too. 

Continuing the terrible time she was having, when she started working yesterday morning (was it still yesterday? Was it the day before now?), the hospital had been still understaffed, she had barely stopped moving during the entire time she was there. She had had five surgeries, one lasting a staggering seven hours, and three separate medical emergencies on top of her typical duties. An intern had caused one of them, and Sakura—being the only supervisor at the time when there should have been two others—had to take the repercussions from the angry family, even if the patient would recover fully. 

Twice over she wasn’t as lucky. One of the surgeries had been routine, but quickly turned horrible, and it was uncertain whether the man would ever walk again, let alone take up his ninja profession. Sakura had endured the angry soulbonded down dress her and was told, “If _she_ were here, my husband would still be able to provide for his family!” Sakura knew from her readings that _she_ would have been able to heal the man’s leg—but he would have died from the initial injury before then, as Nature chakra wasn’t meant for immediate trauma. She bit her tongue and kept it to herself. 

The last tragedy was one that really got to her, however. A woman came in having labor pains, but was only five months along. She had nearly died, and unfortunately the child had during the premature birth. The almost father, in tears, was very thankful that his wife was alive and would make a full recovery, even if his child would not. Sakura didn’t let herself off that easy, and it must have shown, because she had been scheduled to work a third shift but the newly reporting supervising doctor took one look at her and dismissed her from the hospital. 

Now she was walking back to the house, late enough that the moon was beginning to set, so exhausted her very bones ached, a soul deep-weariness that went beyond the physical. She paused, just on the inside of the Uchiha gates, with the sudden realization—Itachi had returned, and he was at the house. She had been trying not to reach for him, to train that dependency out of her, but she still found herself worrying at it like a tongue would prod at a sore tooth.

A twist of emotions foiled in her gut, at finding him _here_ , and she contemplated for longer than she’d admit to turning around and going to sleep at the hospital. With a sigh, she trudged forward. It was late, perhaps she’ll be lucky and he would be asleep. Then she could avoid him until the morning, when he left for work, and be able to leave the house again unaccosted. 

She didn’t bother with the lights when she unlocked the door and entered into the house, kicking off her shoes in the mudroom. She was wearing her ninja boots again because for the hospital she _refused_ to wear a kimono, instead opting into more restrained scrubs than her preferred kunoichi attire. She didn’t try for stealth, but she still walked with trained silence as she made her way to the kitchen—she needed food before she could rest, she could feel the shakes from the chakra exhaustion across her chest and shoulders, though her arms and hands felt numb from chakra overuse. 

Itachi, of course, came out to meet her. 

She allowed herself to slump, leaning against the wall, for the briefest moment. Why couldn’t things, just once, work in her favor? Why did everything seem stacked against her? She knew why he was coming down; he never did so the other times she came back at odd hours after a shift. 

Righting herself, she continued her shuffle towards the kitchen, rubbing her face to reset her features into something neutral. Food, then rest. She needed the calories, or she’d pay for it in the morning. 

“Sakura,” Itachi said, stopping just on the edge of the hallway. There was a strained edge to his voice she had not heard before. 

“Itachi,” She replied back, neutrally stiff. A not insignificant part of her, despite everything, was happy to see him. That part of her wanted to go up to him and wrap her arms around him, press her face against his chest and cry away her terrible night, her terrible week, her terrible year, terrible _life_. She didn’t, however, instead curving around the kitchen counter to get to the fridge. 

The sound of her rummaging in the fridge felt far louder than it was, the air stiff with tension that she was set on ignoring. She placed a jug of juice on the counter with a thunk of the heavy glass, then went back to pull some leftover take out she had gotten… she couldn’t remember. She had it recently enough for it still to be good, she was pretty sure. 

Itachi huffed, an angry little sigh. He flicked on the overhead living room lights, brightening the area immediately in a harsh glare that she couldn’t help but flinch at even if she was now in the still semi-dark kitchen. He wore a simple black shinobi outfit, bereft of all tools of the trade but still not lounge wear, so he had probably returned to Konoha sometime that evening. The fact he wasn’t in sleepwear indicated he definitely had been waiting for her. He broke the silence, but stayed where he was in the doorway. “Can you please explain to me what was going through your mind when you called my mother a cunt?” 

Ah, so that’s what it was now? It was the fourth time she had heard of (and been yelled at for) this incident, with an equal number of versions of it. Not one of the accusers seemed to be aware that she hadn’t called anyone names (as much as she thought about it at the time and with gaining frequency after), or that she had already apologized for her “rudeness,” ridiculous as that was when she had _not_ been the aggressor in the conversation.

Sakura grabbed the food container and closed the fridge with a turn of her hip, taking it to the counter next to the orange juice. The cellophane wrap crinkled loudly as she unwrapped her meal, and she let that be her answer to him. 

“Sakura,” he nearly growled, crossing his arms, unimpressed with her response. His shoulders were tensed and unhappy, showing his agitation. She didn’t want to look at his face and see anger there, too, so she didn’t look.

She took a bite and the food instantly gummed her mouth from it’s chilled congelation, but she forced herself to chew and swallow it. “I am not having this conversation at,” she glanced at the glowing lights on the microwave, “Three in the morning.” 

“So you can delay until the morning, then run away before we have it then?” 

She stiffened at the truth of the accusation—that must have been a favored tactic of _hers_ for him to have known, as they had yet to have a fight before now. Suddenly, she lost all of her appetite, and she felt bile in the back of her throat as she looked at the remaining food in her hand. She wordlessly took the dish and dumped it into the trash. She curled her hand around the juice bottle to return it to the fridge, a bitter thought about the missed, desperately needed sugar. She hadn’t even been able to get a glass first. She found herself pausing instead, closing her eyes, leaning forward on the counter to let it take some of her weight, as everything came crashing down. Some of her hair had escaped from her messy bun, falling forward against her cheek in a tickling annoyance. She was _sick_ of this, of _all_ of this. 

“Fine.” She grit through her teeth. If he wanted an argument, she would give him one. She shoved her hair out of her face. “I never called your mother a cunt, bitch, idiot, or any other insult you may have heard,” she hissed. “Not that anyone believes me, because your mother is apparently a fucking _saint_ who would _never_ lie. So of course I won’t say that. I’ll just say I was simply minding my own business and then this woman—whom I had ever met in my life—came up and accused me of shaming the Uchiha’s name, living like a useless slug off them and their _generosity_. She then called me a disgrace because I like to wear fucking shorts and a sleeveless shirt, like the kunoichi I can no longer be. I merely told her to mind her own _fucking_ business, and leave me _the fuck_ alone.

“Only that wasn’t the end of it, oh no— _Sasuke_ came and told me that what she had said was the **truth**.” She looked at him then, seeing that his arms had dropped and his lips had pursed, dark eyes intense, “Because apparently I have been _volunteering_ at the hospital. I had thought I was earning my own way, but I **was** living off the _goddamned_ Uchiha tit this entire time. And apparently, it **was** _all_ for the fucking goal of me replacing your perfect—Fuck!” 

The glass jug in her hand shattered from her grip, sending juice spilling all over the counter and floor, and shards to bite into her palm. The room froze for a frantic couple heartbeats, the only movement and sound the quick drips as the liquid rolled off the counter into the floor. Then she forced herself to take a breath and _not_ clench her fist and drive the broken bits deeper. She took another deep breath, using it to center herself before she shook the loose shards and sticky juice from her hand. She quickly, carelessly, staunched the bleeding with a napkin, and used a few more to toss onto the dripping liquid. Of course she fucking broke it, that’s just what she needed right now, a big mess to add to her day. 

“Sakura,” Itachi said, a completely different tone of voice, but Sakura hardly cared.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.” She growled as she turned to get the small dustbin and broom, her movements stiff and jerky. She swept the soggy mess with one awkward hand, then dumped the glass and soiled paper towels into the trash can, before moving to the sink to soak a rag. While there, she ran her cut hand under the sink for a moment, before looking at her palm in the still half light of the kitchen. It was bleeding lightly, but she hardly felt it, still largely numb from her day. It looked free and clear of any stray shards, but a few bits may have hidden under her flesh and would need to be dug out. Her shoulders slumped, weariness striking her suddenly, and she raised her non-bloody hand to rub at her aching eyes. She could feel another migraine forming. 

A hand settled on her shoulder. 

Reacting instinctively, she jerked and rolled the shoulder away from the touch. “Don’t _touch_ me!” She shrieked, darting out of the kitchen and out of reach. She turned back to watch him from the living room, breathing heavier than the action should have warranted, hands raised up in an almost defensive gesture. Her heart trembled in her chest, and she knew she was seconds away from breaking out in another panic attack right then. 

They stared at one another in the shocked aftermath of that, her feeling the heavy, frantic heart thumps of her attack, Itachi in shock and hurt and concern that she tried not to see, but she _did_ see it and it _stabbed_ at her, _she was hurting him_ ** _again_** — 

She sucked down a breath and held it to calm down, to keep her attack at bay for just a little longer, dropping her hands to clench at the edges of her shirt to hide their shaking, “I’m tired,” She choked out, trying to suppress the tremor that shook it. “I had a long day. I am going to bed.”

She turned and fled to her room, sliding and locking the door, then just slid down to the floor, her legs unable to hold herself up anymore. She cupped her hands over her mouth to slow her too-fast breaths, and went through her counting exercises to distract from the panic attack. One, _three point contact seal for sucking chest wounds,_ two, _dry bandages for severe burns,_ three, _use a kunai wrapped in cloth for emergency splinting_ , four...

Once her breathing calmed, she felt all remaining energy drain from her. She crawled the remaining distance to the futon, thumping ontop of the covers heavily, too exhausted to change out of her scrubs, to shower, or even to cry. If she had glass in her hand, she’d just have to deal with it in the morning.

She had felt Itachi stay in the kitchen as she tried to calm down, but then he left the house as she laid in the bed. She fell asleep before she found out where he was going. 

**XXXXX**

Sakura wasn’t certain what awoke her this time. She was just suddenly awake, alone in her room. The darkened night sky was visible through the windows, and the hotel was as quiet as the remote location would indicate. She was alone in her room, the feel of Itachi’s presence close but not too close as she had grown accustomed to. It had been her dream that had awoken her… hadn’t it? She didn’t remember. 

She laid in bed a while, watching the moonlight crawl slowly across the floor, but found herself unable to fall back asleep. She sighed when the moonlight touched against an arbitrary line she made up, giving up on sleep. The room, semi-familiar after the two nights they had stayed here—three if you included this one that was not quite over yet—was still strange in its differences from the one she had occupied for months now. 

After she had awoken following their argument, bright late morning light filling her room, Itachi had still been gone, his presence somewhere in the heart of the Uchiha district. She had gotten up, healed her cuts, taken a long shower to help with the shakes she had gotten from her missed caloric intake, dressed and was waiting in the living room for him when he returned a few hours later. He joined her in the living room at her invitation, sitting on the cushion opposite her, face carefully neutral. She apologized for her actions—expressing that she had a very bad day at work, and had over reacted, that he had done nothing wrong. 

Itachi had accepted her apology, and apologized for his own ambush of her so late that night. He said he knew she had come from the hospital and would have been tired and not at her best. He also apologized for the assumption that she would have done the rudeness she had been accused of without any thought to the totality of the facts. 

But then he surprised her. He took a single flower from his bag, presented it to her, and told her they were leaving Konoha that evening when she took it. He told her that he had made reservations on a train for their travel that was departing in just a few hours. In her stunned silence, he had said they needed time together, away from the pressures of the village, the hospital, his family, and their duties. Then, when they (when she) had relaxed and when they (she) were ready, they could have a frank discussion about _them_. She didn’t see the point of the excursion, they could just stay at the house they were currently at and then be here in case an emergency came up, but didn’t have the will to fight against it. It would be nice to have a change of scenery, at least.

He took her to a small, isolated hot springs resort in the mountains, traveling through the night, heading far from Konoha. They checked into a two room suit that early afternoon and, despite sleeping nearly the entirety of the journey, she was out again shortly after dinner. By the morning, groggy and starving, she realized just how off kilter she had been the last few weeks. The separation from Konoha, a lot of uninterrupted sleep, and Itachi ensuring she didn’t skip any meals did significant inroads in her state of mind and body. It was a sign at how desperate things were at the hospital that she was allowed to work with patients at all. She briefly wondered how Itachi managed to clear her of the hospital schedule, but she didn’t ask, and didn’t pursue the thought again.

Itachi had been… different as well. Before, he was always cautious, keeping polite distance, never doing anything beyond what a friend would do. But now, she could only think of it as _courting_ her. When they walked to places, he took her hand into the crook of his arm, as he had only done once before. He pulled her chair out for her, and served food on her plate. He kept bringing her flowers, one each morning, to join the first. They were seasonal things, outside of typical flower lore, and were slowly growing into a bouquet in her room. He walked her to her chosen bedroom door each night to wish her goodnight. It should have been absurd—they were staying in the same suit, his door was next to hers—but it wasn’t. There was a look to his features these last few days, a particular hardness to his gaze when she looked at him that made her think he was doing these things very intentionally, with calculation at each step, ensuring he wasn’t frightening her away by going too quickly, but that there was no doubt as to his intent. 

She knew she should have stopped him, said something against it, but she was still so tired. 

Now she was wide awake despite the hour, for a reason she didn’t know. She could make some tea, maybe chamomile, in the tiny kitchenette to help her sleep, she thought as she got up. She found it noteworthy that their hotel room had such a thing stocked with food, and she wondered how long they were to stay here. She hadn’t asked, and Itachi hadn’t said. 

“Sakura,” Itachi said, almost in a mirror of the other night. This time the room was already lit by a single lamp near the couch, the light warm and almost amber in hue. It softened his features as he leaned against the door frame of his room, wearing his dark blue sleepwear. His arms were crossed over his chest like that night, but it was the set of his shoulders that showed his mood. Relaxed and casual, not tensed and aggressive. His voice also held none of its former harshness, soft to fit the early hour.

“Sorry,” She said, her voice a match for his, pouring the hot water into her mug. She had taken effort to be silent, knowing it was late, but Itachi—like most shinobi—was a very light sleeper. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. Would you like a cup?” The initial awkwardness of post-freakout/apology had faded, but not left completely. 

He shook his head, “No thank you.” 

But furthering the evidence that he was pursuing something, he walked into the space, taking up residence onto one edge of the sofa instead of leaving her to her own devices as he had in the past. He sat comfortably, hooking an ankle over his knee and had his body turned towards her. He propped one arm against the backrest, lightly leaning his head on his knuckles. When he was settled he asked, “Did you have a bad dream?” 

“No. Yes. I don’t remember.” She frowned, then sighed, confused at herself, “It was just a feeling, I think…” 

“Would you like to talk about it?” He motioned her to sit next to him with a slight wave of his hand, his entire demeanor seemingly crafted to be inviting. It probably was. 

She looked back into her cup as if it held the answers for her as she weighed her choices, watching as the tea steeped and slowly colored. She really shouldn’t go over there, seeking his comfort; she should keep her distance. Talking about her dreams in the middle of the night was not something you would just do with anyone, especially _this_ one.

But she was just so _tired_ , and she _did_ want to _._

She gathered up her mug and shuffled to join him on the couch, sitting just out of easy reach, but close enough that if she shifted too aggressively, her leg would brush his knee. She kept both of her hands wrapped around the mug, it’s almost too hot ceramic comforting in the chill of the room. The mountainous resort was high enough up that there was snow on the ground in certain parts, and the nights were very chilly. The thick walls and heated floors kept the worst of it away, but the air still held that slight crispness to it that the warm humidity of Konoha never managed. It hadn’t snowed yet while they were here, but according to the receptionist, it should be any day now.

Itachi had told her over dinner that he hoped it would while they were here, as he loved waking up to fresh snow. It was a small, inconsequential fact that she desperately, stupidly, cherished and held to her heart. She shouldn’t, but she did, and she kept thinking about it. She wanted to be there when he woke up and found out and turned to her with a smile that—she closed her eyes, pushing the thought away. 

She breathed and opened them again; closing them hadn’t helped. 

“You said you don’t remember your dream, then?” His voice almost crooned at her now, sinfully enticing. She could imagine listening to that voice in the dark of the night, every night, and never get tired of it.

She shook her head, both in answer to him and to free her mind of her continually wandering thoughts. Her right side tingled with his proximity, with the want to touch, but she kept her hands around her mug, her legs still. “It was more like… an eco, almost. Of a sensation.” She grimaced briefly, “Now I don’t even know if the sensation was from the dream at all, or just…” She trailed off, then shrugged one side. 

“Hm,” he hummed. It shouldn’t have sounded as intimate as it did. “What was the sensation of?”

She sighed again, a long drawn out exhale. She shouldn’t answer that, it gave far too much truth, and yet…

“Loneliness.” She said, staring fixedly at her still untouched cup, “The feeling of being… so very _alone_.” It still ached at her heart, at her soul—she was alone, since the day she arrived, so she couldn’t be certain it was her dream, or just her reality. 

The air thickened, and she closed her eyes again lest she give into the temptation to look at him. If she looked at him she knew she’d break, and she couldn’t. She _shouldn’t_. 

“One thing… that the Bond means here…” Itachi began, slowly, “Is that you will never be truly alone again. Not while the other still lives.”

She frowned unhappily, her lips being tugged back by her emotions beyond her control, by the tumbling turmoil in her heart. She felt a hot tear fall from one eye, then the other. Oh no, don’t do that, don’t give her hope. Don’t give her heart something to latch onto, something to have and _keep_. She shouldn’t, she couldn’t—

“May I hold you?” He asked, voice a cautious whisper, as if he was scared of how she’d react to it. 

She _shouldn’t_ —

But she found herself nodding instead, unable to speak. 

Slowly, delicately, he leaned forward on the couch, wrapping a cautious arm around her shoulders. She opened her eyes, but kept the watery gaze on her mug as he carefully removed it from her grip, then she stared at her hands as if confused by their emptiness. He didn’t just gather her in his arms, but instead dragged her nearly limp form backwards with him, settling back against the armrest with her laying between his legs and on top of him. 

The way her body twisted was uncomfortable, so of course she turned just so to settle more firmly against him. Her hands, now free from the warmth of their mug, of course curled into the dark blue fabric on his chest as she pressed her cheek against it. His heartbeat thumped loudly under her ear, almost deafening, and she felt unworthy to hear it but she didn’t have the will or energy to move. His arms wrapped around her more firmly, one hand curling into her hair at the back of her head and the other snaking around her waist, protective and possessive. She felt like it was caging her, anchoring, dragging her down to depths in which she’d never escape. 

She felt him press his own cheek against her hair, and felt herself rise as he took a deep breath. 

“You don’t have to be alone ever again, Sakura.”

She cried then, cried for him, for his lost family, for her and her lost self. He held her as she cried, combing his hand through her hair in a manner that could not be mistaken for anything platonic. She couldn’t fight it anymore, didn’t _want_ to; she was giving up. In the morning, they would discuss _them_ , and what it all meant. She couldn’t keep going on like this, she was done. 

She was just done. 

**XXXXX**

She didn’t know when she had fallen asleep, but she must have, because she awoke again. Her alarm was beeping unpleasantly at her, dragging her consciousness back. When she opened her crusted, swollen eyes, she found herself back in her room, in her bed, and the clock glaring 7AM at her. The room was already warm, almost sticky in that eternal heat which Konoha never seemed to escape from. The sun was merrily making its way into her window, unfortunately positioned to get the heat but not having a view other than the wall and partial roof of her neighboring building. Her apartment had been chosen for its location to the hospital and it’s cost, not for any aesthetics. 

She reached out and turned the alarm off, having no desire to get up.

Of course she was back in Konoha. Of course she didn’t know where he was, the sense of him gone as if it had never been. Of course, of course. Why had she expected any different?

She lay there, uncaring of the world and it’s cruelties, until Naruto came to collect her late that morning. He came in as cheerful and oblivious as she remembered, with the whiskers bequeathed by his mother on his cheeks and his father’s coloring in his hair and eyes. 

It was then she broke.


End file.
